Sarah Gabriel (10 page)

Eilidh…come with us.
The voices blended with the wind, and the beat of horses’ hooves seemed part of the thunder. She knew how serious the risks were—Donal MacArthur had fallen to their mystical lure years before, and paid the price of it every seven years. Now she, too, felt the strange pull of their presence. But if she found James and stayed with him, he was so solid and unbelieving that even their power might diminish before that, and both of them would be safe.

She had never feared the fairies before, but now she felt wary. James had no idea of the dangers involved if he stayed out. Seeing his discarded cane as she limped
over the lawn, she grabbed it up to help her walk, and then rushed onward, her nightgown and plaid whipping back, her uncovered hair soon wet.

Then the wolfhound was beside her, bumping against her, and she took his collar, reassured by his strength. Crossing the wet, soggy grass beside him, limping in bare feet, she soon noticed the pain diminishing. She knew that the presence of the Fey could make a person feel good, healed, even euphoric: their magic was in the very air.

Something moved ahead, shapes and shadows in the mist that took on a strange blue glow. She heard footfalls and bells. Moments later she saw a line of horses, light and dark, moving through the night mist just beyond a line of trees. She hurried forward a few steps, and stopped, scarcely daring to breathe, afraid to be heard or seen.

The riders, for it was they, the
Sidhe
of old, glided by on horseback. Some called them the Seelie Court—a marvel, a vision, they emerged sparkling out of the mist, tall men and slender women who sat their horses elegantly. They were impossibly beautiful, the glitter and spark of their jeweled clothing like webs of light and fire. Their cloaks and garments, a rainbow of color, were hemmed with gold and gems, and the reins in their hands were bejeweled, too. Their hair, set with filaments of gold and silver, was softly curled, sun-gold or night-black, braided and beribboned. Rings flashed on their fingers, buckles glinted on belts and shoes, and their eyes glowed like crystal.

As they approached, she saw magical symbols embroidered in shining threads on hems and saddles. Tiny silver bells, dangling on harnesses and braided in the horses’ manes, chimed soft and clear in the night.

In the lead rode a woman, with a man and another woman riding to either side of her. Others followed, seven riders in all, with an empty saddled horse. They meant to bring someone back with them this night.

A cold chill flooded through Elspeth. They had come for her. She knew it like the certainty of stars and sunlight. She stepped back into the shadows as the cavalcade headed toward the back gardens of Struan House. They would soon pass the place where Elspeth stood beneath a huge oak tree to one side of the garden. A stone wall stood between her and the riders, who came at a steady pace as if there were no barrier.

She flattened her back against the oak, sheltered beneath its dripping leaves, and watched as the riders passed clean through the stone wall—all of them, as if they were nothing but mist. Their gait made a kind of music:
clip-clop
and bell ring, with the sighing of the wind.

Even as Elspeth shrank against the tree trunk, the Fey lady in the lead saw her and angled the horse toward her.
There! Come to us, Dear One…

They were close now, nearly abreast with her where she stood under the tree, horses passing slowly in front of her, the boughs of the oak trees shaking in the storm winds as they passed. The lady, beautiful in green and gold, her pale hair streaming like moonlight, reached her arm and beringed hand toward Elspeth, who shrank back.

Yet she felt a strong tug that seemed outside herself, and irresistible. She thought of James, disbelieving and unaware of the threat, and she clung to the tree. The true
Sidhe
—if such these were—could steal the very soul from a human.

Come with us,
they said in their melodious sing-song.

The dark-haired lady, near her now, reached out her arm.
Sweet One, join us!

Suddenly unable to stop herself—she felt drawn to this fairy woman, more so than the first—Elspeth lifted her arms, realizing that she was losing strength against their thrall. The outdoors was their domain, the earth, the trees, the rain, the wind, the rocks, the air. Here, their power was strongest. Her hand was up, the fairy reached out, and she heard music in the rain, and smelled the scent of flowers despite the storm. Then she felt herself lifting on her toes—

“Elspeth!”

His voice cut like a brisk wind. She looked around to see James running toward her. Forcing herself to step away from the line of riders, she whirled and bolted toward him over the wet lawn, crossing in front of the cavalcade as it rode toward the house.

A moment later she heard horse hooves behind her, and then beside her, as the riders caught up to her.
Dear One, wait! Eilidh…

“Elspeth, here!” James was not far away, waving to her. The riders passed Elspeth then, and in an almost fickle way, headed for the man. “I’m here!” he called.

“James, no!” Elspeth ran toward him. The riders moved, clopping hooves and silver bells, and when they reached James, the lady in the lead beckoned to him.

Come with me,
she called. Elspeth saw him look up at the Fey. The wind blew at his coat, his hair. Then he reached up, and a mist seemed to envelop him, and the horses.

“No!” She ran into the mist, reaching out to grab James so fervently that he stumbled back a step, wrapping his arms around her. The horses were but an arm’s length away, their riders reaching toward both of them. Elspeth spun James around so that his back was to them, and she turned her own face away, tucked against him. Bringing up her arm, swathed in her green-patterned plaid, she covered both of them as best she could. The Fey lingered in the mist, calling out.
Come with us.

On impulse, Elspeth grabbed James’s face in her hands to keep him from looking around. He began to speak, and she kissed him, hard and desperate. She gasped against his warm, pliant, responsive lips, pressing against him along the length of her body, as he caught her.

“No, no, you shall not have him,” she whispered frantically.

A
s the kiss deepened, James took over, his hands coming up to cup her face. Elspeth cupped her hands over his, determined to keep him from seeing the Seelie Court, and the magical lady who wanted to take them both away with her.

“Hold tight, hold me tight,” she whispered between kisses.

Long ago, in the many tales of fairy lore that her grandfather had taught her, she remembered that a loved one could be saved from the fairies by a fast embrace, never letting go, never looking back, until the danger passed.

As James kissed her, she sank against him, feeling as if a whirlwind spun around them. Her hair whipped free, his fingers threading into the strands as he tilted her head back, and renewed the kiss with hunger and wildness. The wind shoved them, turned them, and again, yet Elspeth did her best to keep him from looking up to see the riders. Finally she sensed them moving away, and glanced up to see them vanishing into the mist. The man who rode behind the women
looked back, and she thought he looked familiar, but in shadows and storm, she could not tell.

Soon you will be with us, Eilidh,
the stranger seemed to say.

But she would not follow them—not now that she knew their power, and knew that her grandfather had been right after all. They did intend to take her. But held tightly in James’s arms, she felt safe—she felt loved, for that moment. Whether it was real outside this moment, she wanted more of that feeling, wanted to be with him.

The mist and the sound of small bells faded, leaving only drizzle and thickening fog. The danger had passed, and Elspeth had saved him; they had saved each other. And yet she stood wrapped in James’s arms, kissing as if it need never stop, fervent and hungry, the rain wetting her face and his, slicking her hair, her hands, their lips in a slippery, delicious blend. He cupped her face in his hands now, his lips caressing hers, coaxing, craving, and she lost sense of all else but him, and the need, and the rain.

“Hold me,” she whispered. “Hold fast, never let go—”

“Never,” he murmured against her lips, and tightened his arms around her. She slipped her hands under his coat and waistcoat, where the fabric of his shirt felt warm to her chilled, wet fingers, and she felt herself pulling at fabric, starving for more of that wild touch. Then he slid his hand over her arms, along her hips, over the cotton nightgown, and upward until he cupped her breast, and she drew in a breath.

They turned, slow and dancelike, as his fingers cradled and teased, his thumb grazing over the nipple. She cried out softly and took his mouth again in a kiss.
He groaned low, and his tongue glided over hers, his fingers finding the other breast, and then both, until she felt her knees folding under her and she began to sink down into the soft, wet grass. He sank with her, facing her, pressing close, their abdomens tight together, so that she felt his desire for her, hard and sure. She melted inside, desperately wanting more of this. The mist had grown thicker around them, and she felt as if they were alone here, suspended in a place without time, lost to caresses.

Arching, she felt a hot need building within, and she gasped, hungry to touch him, wandering her hands over him—pulling at his coat, his waistcoat, his shirt, shaping his chest, his abdomen, with her hands. He pulled her tightly against him, his breath as fast as hers, and she rocked against him, and he with her, intimate and daring, and altogether what she wanted, here and now.

His lips traced whispery soft at her ear, and beneath his fingertips, her nipples went to pearls, and she moaned. He dipped his head, lips seeking over her jaw and throat, his hand now pushing aside the damp fabric of her gown, and when his lips touched her breast she cried out, an ecstatic gasp, and felt the bolder touch of his hand over her belly, scooping down, finger pads nudging between her thighs. Teasing warmth, and a pressure that took her breath away, and she shaped her hand over his breeches, her fingers easing along between flap and waist button. She felt such heat, such steely solidity there, and when he groaned against her she felt wanton, tingling, wild throughout—and yet it was more than desire and will; she felt something powerful and driven, something she could not deny, and did not want to refuse.

He moaned, kissed her, his breaths ragged. He lifted his hands away and brought them up to cradle her face. He pushed her rain-slicked hair back.

“Dear God,” he said raggedly, “what is this?”

“A wild pledge on a fairy night,” she whispered, and kissed him, and knew it was so—at least for her part, she would pledge true, though she might never see him again.

He sighed and came to his feet, and clasped her hands to pull her up to stand with him. “Not here—not like this, savage in a garden. My God,” he said, leaning toward her. “Wild pledge on a fairy night—I can almost believe it.”

“Almost! You saw them yourself.”

“Who?”

“The
Sidhe
,” she whispered, glancing about. “The Good Folk. We must be careful how we call them when they are so near.”

He stared at her. “Near? Has the storm got to you, or the whiskey?”

“You saw them!” She grabbed his coat lapel. “I know you did. They rode past us, the Good Folk of the Seelie Court. They tried to coax us to come with them.”

“We’d best get you inside.” He lifted her green plaid again, draped it over her shoulders, guiding her with him toward the house. “A fascinating legend, your fairy riders. On such a night as this one, it is easy to imagine all manner of things.”

“Are you sure you saw nothing else?”

“I noticed you, my girl.” He brushed back her hair. “It’s coming down in a torrent again.” He hunched his shoulders, putting his arm around her. “Come away.”

She hastened with him toward the house, and no
ticed that her ankle hurt fiercely once again—but the pain had stopped earlier, she remembered. Beside her, James, too, had a halt in his step again, though it had seemed to temporarily disappear as well, when he had run across the lawn toward her as the fairy riders came toward him. His gait had been long and even then.

Seeing the cane discarded, she stopped to pick it up, and he took it without a word, and they went to the back doorway, shaking off the rain. With the dogs bounding around them, they entered the dark corridor alongside the kitchen.

“What did you see out there?” Elspeth asked him then.

He was brushing rain from his shoulders, and paused. He had lost his hat, and his thick hair was dark and curling with the wet. He looked wildly handsome, so much so it wrenched her heart. “What did I see? A good deal of rain, that’s for certain,” he said. “The trees were blowing and bending so that I shall have to look in daylight for damage. The horses are fine, though,” he finished.

“Nothing more?” She stood very still.

He touched her cheek. “I saw a lovely woman,” he murmured. “Why?”

She stared at him for a moment. “The thrall had both of us in its power.”

“Oh aye, it did.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek.

She batted his hand away, spun, and stomped toward the stairs, limping heavily, her ankle tender.

“Elspeth! What in blazes is wrong?”

Pausing, she looked over her shoulder. “If I tell you what I saw, you will call me seven kinds of lunatic, and swear until you turn blue. So be it—I will not trouble
you with talk of Second Sight, and certainly no talk of fairies,” she said, spinning away, “and thank you kindly for the compromise.”

James hastened after her, reaching out to grab the black terrier by the collar before it could trip Elspeth on the stairs. “What are you blathering on about?” he asked, climbing the stairs behind her. “Watch yourself,” he added, catching her elbow when she missed her footing. She shook him away.

“You saw something out there, I know you did.”

“A good deal of rain, and two foolish people who stood kissing in a lightning storm,” he answered.

“Why will you not admit what you saw? We kept each other safe out there so that we would not be stolen away—we saved each other, you and I!”

“From being snatched by the wind? It could have lifted you away, but not me.”

She reached the hallway and turned to face him. “I’ve heard that when the Fey are near, a madness can overwhelm those who see them. I think that is what happened to us.”

“A kind of madness indeed,” he said, stepping up beside her. “And I accept the blame for that.” He touched her shoulder. Her hair, dangling in black twists and curls, swept over his hand as she shook her head.

“There is no blame. The thrall had us in its power. Do you not understand?”

“Madness or magic, we will call it something else tomorrow. And then what?”

She leaned close, narrowing her eyes. Even in the dim hallway, he could see the beautiful sheen of her eyes. “You did forget,” she said thoughtfully. “The
thrall happens that way with some. The memory may return.”

He brushed a hand through her hair. “I have not forgotten a single moment of what just happened,” he murmured, “nor will I.”

“Try to remember, James. The queen of the Fey rode past us, and tried to take us both. We held each other tight to keep safe. Try to recall it.”

“My girl, you do not need to invent a story to explain this whole thing away. The truth will do. I was worried about you, I found you—and I lost control of myself. You are…rather irresistible.”

She pushed his hands away. “You were worried because you saw the Fey.”

“I was worried because you ran out into a lightning storm in your nightclothes,” he said. “When I saw you outside, with the weather so fierce, and that strange fog rising, I tried to wave you away from the trees—they were bending low in the wind, and I thought they might crack and collapse. Then you ran toward me, and whatever happened after that was my doing.”

“Both of ours—but—did you not see the horses, or the riders?”

“The horses in the stable are fine, as I said. That mist was odd—thick and swirling in strange patterns. One might easily imagine horses and riders moving through it, but it was just the trees whipping about.” He frowned. “Though you did put a sort of thrall over me.” He tipped her chin up with his hand. “And I gave in.”

“I have no magic. It was not me who did that.”

“You,” he said, “have more magic than you know. But you should have waited inside for me to come back from the stables.”

“They—the Good Folk, the folk of the Seelie Court—called to me to follow, and they called to you, too. The only way to stay safe when the Fey ride by is to hold tight to another, and fear not, no matter what happens. Fear not, and do not look at them. And we had my cloak of green, which is a protective color against the fairy folk.”

He stared. Good God, what was she blathering on about? “Are you talking about the ballad of Tam Lin
?
‘Hold me fast, let me not go—’” He stopped abruptly.

“‘I’ll be your bairn’s father,’” she finished.

“Very nearly, which you and I had best discuss,” he drawled.

“You think me a wanton hussy, intent on my own mean purpose.”

“I never said that. We are in extraordinary circumstances, you and I.”

“Oh, extraordinary!” She was beginning to seethe, he could see, her shoulders tightening, her brow drawn together in a furious frown, yet still she looked like an angel to him, or a fine fairy beauty with that cloud of black hair and those eyes, crystal gray in some lights. “Stop denying this. I saw you stand there and look up at them, and reach toward them, as if you were tempted to ride away with a queen of the
daoine sìth
.”

“Elspeth, enough. If this is part of your scheme to be ruined and wed, have done with it. If it’s something else—well, you are Donal MacArthur’s granddaughter. I read my grandmother’s account of his story. He claims to have had some strange encounters.”

“What did she write about him?” Elspeth asked.

“He told her that he had been taken by the fairies, and returns every few years.”

“So you think my grandfather a daftie, and me as well.” She shook off his hands. “Away with you! Believe what you like. I saw the Good Folk ride past us, and
you
saw them, too,” she said, poking his shoulder with a finger, “whether or not you admit it.”

“I do not think you are daft. Eccentric, perhaps. Superstitious, certainly.”

“I am going into the drawing room to rest my foot,” she said, “and to get dry and warm. I need a little time to think. Alone, if you do not mind.”

“Fine,” he said. “I have work to do in the study.”

“As for my grandfather,” she said, “Donal MacArthur knows whereof he speaks. When he was a young man, he lived with the fairies, their hostage for seven years.”

“Seven years,” he repeated carefully.

“Well, to be fair,” she said, “it felt like a week to him.” She spun away and limped down the hallway toward the drawing room.

James stared after her, dumbfounded. Osgar appeared beside him in the hallway, paused to stare up at him, then turned to pad after Elspeth. “Ah, the fairy hound,” James said. “Go after your wee mistress. She’s one of their ilk, after all. Make certain she stays safe, hey?”

He blew out a long breath, ran a hand through his damp hair, then again, turning about in the deserted hallway as if he did not know quite what to do next. Seven years with the fairies? What purpose could she have in claiming such a thing?

If he had by some miracle found himself a real fairy, she was furious enough right now to resort to spells, he told himself. He smiled then, thinking he might enjoy a little mischief in her hands, once her temper subsided.

Passing by the library as she went toward the drawing room, Elspeth stopped as she noticed the shutting of the light as James closed the door to his study. She stood leaning against the jamb of the open double door, looking into the high, spacious, book-lined room, and she sighed heavily. For a moment she was tempted to go after him and knock on the door—but she knew better than to pursue this now. Nothing could be agreed or decided when both of them were tired, angry, and a little stunned by what had occurred in the garden. She knew the Seelie Court had ridden past—and she was sure that James had seen it, too, but would not admit it or did not remember. But there was no convincing him.