Fair Maiden (33 page)

Christian gave Contessa another soft shove backward. “Move
out of the way, love, while I dispatch this lout.”

The sound of leaves crunching beneath her slippers and the
blanket dragging along grass was heard as she obeyed.  He hoped she would trust
him, and not sacrifice herself again.

Christian pondered that if Dominic had been fooled when he
mixed the magic, perhaps it would work if he tried it another time, but with
yet another twist. Muttering a magic-blocking spell that was an odd mixture of
Latin, Welsh, and Gaelic, he prayed for the best.

Dominic frowned when it seemed whatever magic he’d spoken in
his head failed.

With a narrowed gaze, Dominic brandished his weapon and
offered a wicked smile that showed his teeth. “I’ll have her and her wealth
right after I’ve
dispatched
you, you witless child. I have enough
fighting experience with or without magic, while you’ve lived the life of a
pampered and spoiled peer. Did you really think you could beat me in this?” Dominic
laughed. “You’re probably more skilled with a gun than you are with a real blade,
which, as you already know, won’t help you here.”

Christian swallowed because he knew Dominic spoke the truth.
He could only pray James had taught him enough in the short time they’d had for
him to prepare.

Dominic came at him with a two-handed slashing motion that
whistled as it rent the air. Metal clashing against metal rang in his ears as
Christian was forced to use everything he had to stop the blow with his own
blade. A grunt was forced from his lungs in the effort as he watched his elbows
bend under the strain and bring the deadly steel closer to his face than he
would like. With one more grunt, Christian tightened his hold on his own blade
and shoved them away while stepping back.

Still leering, Dominic swung again and again and again,
until the forest echoed with the sounds of medieval battle. Each time Christian
parried as King James had taught him. At this rate, however, Dominic would wear
down his strength and he would surely lose this fight. A couple of times he
heard Contessa gasp or squeak with fear. He had to ignore the sounds that made
him want to check on her, knowing Dominic was not above stabbing him in the
back.

But he also knew he had to change how he was fighting. He
had to attack as much as he was defending himself or he would never defeat this
fey prince. Dominic delivered one strike that rattled his joints as much as the
king’s had. But Dominic had also left himself open for a split second
afterward. Christian lunged forward and slid the blade along the side of the
prince’s woolen coat, slicing into fabric and flesh. It wasn’t a death blow,
even though he’d aimed for the man’s gut, but it was something....

Dominic’s face twisted with disbelief and confusion as he
looked down at his bloody clothing, then he bellowed with rage and came at
Christian with renewed vengeance and managed to slice into his sleeve, also
grazing his arm. The cut burned and he could feel warm blood trickling down to
his elbow as it then became saturated in the fabric of his shirt. Contessa
expressed another protest, but he didn’t hear her moving about so he hoped she
was staying well out of the fray.

It was apparent Dominic was struggling with his injury,
perhaps even more than Christian was with his, as they continued to battle.
When Dominic stumbled and color drained from his face, Christian realized he
just might win this fight and that knowledge renewed his conviction.

But, it seemed, as Dominic came to the same understanding,
his pompous expression faltered, sliding into obvious desperation. As Christian
witnessed the sudden change, it worried him because he’d always perceived a
desperate man as a more dangerous man, and a more unpredictable opponent.

He was right to be concerned because Dominic suddenly
withdrew a long dagger from his boot, and shouted, “She’s not worth this much
trouble!” then launched the deadly-looking knife Contessa’s way. It stuck her
in the chest, right where her heart should be. A shuddering breath trickled
from her lips as she clutched at it with a look of utter bemusement in her
eyes. Christian watched with his heart turning over inside his chest as she
collapsed and fell to the earth. Motionless.

“No!”  Christian tried to run to her, but he could hear Dominic
behind him and he swung back just in time to stop the next blow. He cut out a
string of his vilest curses and attacked the prince with a fury he didn’t know
he possessed. It wasn’t enough. As Dominic managed to force him backward, his
foot found a loose stone upon the ground. His ankle twisted as it rolled
beneath his foot and he lost his balance. When his back slammed painfully into
more forest debris and more sharp stones, pushing all air from his lungs, Dominic
rushed at him.

But Dominic also tripped on the same rock, came crashing
down on top of Christian—and then didn’t move again. It took Christian a moment
or two to realize that the red-stained sword he could see was the one he held
and it was protruding from the middle of Dominic’s back.

Dominic had been thoroughly impaled.

Disgust caused bile to rise in his throat as he scrambled
out from under the dead prince.

Contessa was his first thought, however, and upon unsteady
feet, he made his way to her. She lay before him with one arm across her
stomach and the other stretched out to the side. Her eyes were closed...and she
was far too still.

Christian dropped to his knees, pulled the blade from her
chest, shoved open the blanket and ripped the buttons loose on his coat. He
wasn’t certain exactly where she’d been struck, but there was no blood staining
her white camisole. He eased her onto his lap, cuddling her head in the crook
of his arm. Her head rolled limply as he moved her closer, and she remained
unmoving. “Tessa, don’t leave me! Please hold on!”

He brushed away locks of her hair that had fallen across her
face which was as pale as it had been in death. Her chest did not rise and fall
with the intake and exhale of breath, and her lips were turning blue. “No! No!”
He lifted her and settled his ear over her heart. Sobbing now, Christian shook
his head and lowered her again to his legs. There was no heartbeat.

She was truly dead.

“Oh, Contessa, my love, I’m so sorry. So very sorry—” Tears
dropped onto her face. They were not hers, but his. He reached to brush them
from her skin when she vanished.

Completely vanished. Well, except for the blanket, his frock,
and her undergarments. He was left sitting in the woods...alone, his arms
filled with cold fabric.

Rational thought fled him and utter bereavement filled the
void it left behind. Christian hunched forward with a bowed head and his free
hand fisted around his hair. He had no idea how long he sat like that, but when
he lifted his head the sun had risen above the horizon and the birds were out
pecking for their breakfast amongst the fallen leaves. In a daze Christian
gathered up the blanket and clothes, folded them, and then stuffed them into
his satchel. Her shoes he left behind. He didn’t know what else to do with
himself except go to her parents and tell them of their great loss.

With trembling limbs he rose to his feet and retrieved King
James’ sword, wiped it clean on the grass and settled it back in the scabbard.

He staggered and then leaned against a tree to steady
himself. Could she truly be gone? If she’d turned ghostly when she was struck
he might have believed she lived, but she hadn’t. The king’s words came back
into his mind.
She cannot be killed in ghost form.
But she’d not been in
ghost form. Her body had been cold and lifeless before she’d disappeared. And
never when she had turned into a spirit had she vanished from sight completely.
He could always still see her even though she was transparent.

Even when she’d been a ghost he’d witnessed more life in her
than he did just now. The spell protecting her must have been damaged too much.

Reaching into his shirt, he withdrew her engagement ring.
He’d worn it upon a chain around his neck since she dropped it each time she
shifted to spirit form. The emeralds and diamonds glittered and winked at him,
reminding him of her, of her eyes. He swore and pinched his eyelids shut,
forcing the tears there out the corners of his eyes.

After what felt like an hour or more, Christian pulled
himself together and made his way to Dover Straits, across the channel, home to
Kreslty, gathered his horse, and then headed to the woods to find the mist.

Unable to look them in the eye once he was there before her
parents, Christian stared at his boots and said, “I’m terribly sorry, My Lord,
but...I have failed you. Dominic killed her with a dagger thrown into her
chest.”

Silence brought his gaze up to the king and queen. He
dragged his sleeve across his eyes trying to clear his tear-blurred vision and
was rather surprised he didn’t get the distraught reaction he was expecting.

King James cleared his throat and, with an air of confidence
Christian couldn’t understand, asked, “Was she bleeding?”

When Christian did little else but gape and shake his head
at the question, the king said, “She’s not dead.”

“But she wasn’t breathing, she had no heartbeat, and she was
deathly pale....”

“And where is she now?”

“I have no idea. She disappeared. Left her clothing behind
and—”

“Son, the spell we placed on her was quite thorough, and only
slightly fractured, and even though it had been weakened, it was still in
place. Dominic could not have killed her.”

“She never turned into a ghost, and you said—”

“Do not waste time trying to understand it, Christian. Go to
Contessa. She should be sleeping at Krestly in her chamber. She could be
frightened if she awakens alone. Be there for her,” commanded King James, his
tone imperious.

“T-truly?” Christian could hardly believe what he was
hearing. His hand rose to his chest because he thought his ribs might burst
around his heart as it swelled with relief.

“Aye, now stop dallying and go!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Christian fled their keep, vaulted into
Prince’s saddle and nudged the beast into an all out gallop. He may have been
impressed with the spell they’d created before, but to actually save her life
from something like that.... Christian was still having trouble believing it
but he was hoping and praying she was just as they said—sleeping soundly in
that enchanted bed of hers. He again thought of what he’d seen in the woods of
France: her gray complexion, her lack of breath and beating heart. Was that how
she’d look after the fall down the stairs? If so, it was no wonder all believed
her to be dead.

He raced inside his castle and took the stairs two at a
time. Once he got to the location of her chamber he was met with a stone wall.
How was he going to get past this? Why wasn’t the door there? Crashing through
it was the only way he could think of to get to her. “Jackson!” he bellowed.
And when no one answered, again he shouted, “Jackson!”

“Christian, you’re back. Did you find her? Is she safe?”
Jackson asked, huffing from the exertion it had taken for him to answer the
call.

“Get me a sledgehammer!”

“I beg your pardon.”

Christian swung around and looked the old man in the eye,
barely noting that Tabitha had just arrived and stood next to his butler. “A
sledgehammer, and hurry!”

“Yes, Chris, right away.” Jackson still looked a mixture of
confused and curious as he worried a hand through his snowy hair, but Christian
wasn’t willing to explain things just yet. He was still reeling from her death
and then.... He had to see her. It was the only way to soothe his fears
completely.

Jackson stood at the top of the staircase in what looked
like a moment of indecision, as though he didn’t quite know where to look for
the needed item and then, deciding, scurried down. Christian twisted around to
face the wall and ran his hands over it. “Please be in there, Tessa. Please be
sleeping and not distressed,” he whispered to no one else but himself.

He’d forgotten about Tabitha, who was apparently still
behind him. “Where is Lady, or rather, Princess Contessa?”

“In here.” He hoped.

“What happened with Dominic? Did you defeat him?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t say he liked how hoarse his voice came
out. Christian looked at the witch and noticed she carried her big book of
spells. Then an idea occurred to him. “Can you get through this wall?”

“I’m afraid her parents guarded the entrance to her chamber
against magic of any kind.”

A frown pinched his forehead. “They told you this?”

“Yes, only they can remove it, and they cannot escape as of
yet. But I may be able to help them. Though it will take time—”

“Will I be able to smash through it?”

“I believe so.”

“Why?” he demanded a bit more harshly than he meant to.

“Love, I suppose.”

“What?”

“Well, I am quite fond of the girl, but I do not have the
bond that her parents or you have with her.”

Christian rubbed aggressively at his temples. He was getting
the mother of all headaches because the old woman wasn’t making any sense at
all. And thank the saints Jackson returned just then. He took the club and
swung.

After bashing at the rock for who knew how long it started
to break away and reveal a wooden door. He kept at it until he had a hole large
enough to get through and then began hacking away at the decrepit wood beneath
the stone. It crumbled into dust with ease.

He dove through, pushed to his feet, and gasped when he saw
the state of the chamber. The vines and insects that had been living were dead
and rotting away. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, except for
the fabric upon the bed, which was like new. And she was there, a vision
dressed as a medieval bride. The sun shone through the chamber window,
caressing her as though it could not resist doing so. Perhaps it couldn’t. He
certainly knew the feeling.