Ivy's Choice (The Fey Quartet Book 3) (10 page)

They looked at each other for long seconds, and then Hugh smiled at her. “Ivy, will you please marry me?”

The urge to cry ambushed her again. Ivy bit her lip and nodded.

Hugh’s smile broadened into a grin. “Thank you.
That
was the answer I wanted.” He stepped closer, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her gently.

Ivy closed her eyes and leaned into Hugh’s kiss. Her crutch fell unheeded to the ground. Hugh’s arms were strong, his mouth tender, and he loved her. Hugh Dappleward didn’t care that she was lame. He
loved
her.

Abruptly, Ivy came to her senses. She drew back and glanced at the cottage. Eight people stood there in absolute silence, staring at her and Hugh, their expressions variously surprised and amused.

A hot blush suffused Ivy’s face.

Hugh chuckled, deep in his chest. He tucked her close to his side. “Ivy and I are getting married,” he called out.

There was a surge of movement towards them, an excited babble of noise. Ivy saw joy on Maythorn’s face and sincere delight on Guy Dappleward’s. Tam and Cadoc were grinning, and even grim, craggy Rauf Ironfist was smiling, and Larkspur . . . Larkspur looked truly happy for the first time in days.

For several minutes it was chaos. Ivy was kissed and embraced and exclaimed over. The hounds bounded across the meadow and joined in, barking loudly. “Get married at midsummer with us!” Hazel begged, and Tam swung Ivy up in a laughing, dizzying, rib-crushing hug, set her carefully back on her feet, and repeated the invitation.

Gradually, the chaos settled. Ivy had no idea where her crutch was, but it didn’t matter; Hugh’s arm was around her, warm and strong.

Guy Dappleward took one of her hands and held it in both of his. His face was kindly and smiling. “Welcome to the Dappleward family, Ivy. I’m very glad to have you as a daughter.”

“Not half as glad as I am to have her as a wife,” Hugh said, tightening his arm around her shoulders.

Tears pricked Ivy’s eyes. She had Larkspur back,
and
she had Hugh, and now the gods were giving her a father, too.

Hugh pressed a kiss into her hair. “A midsummer wedding?”

Ivy looked at the smiling faces around her, and lastly at Hugh’s face, at the joy in his eyes, and felt her happiness swell until she thought she might burst from it. The future stretched before her, better than anything she could have wished for.
No Faerie gift could have brought me this much joy
. “A midsummer wedding.”

Thanks for reading
Ivy’s Choice
. I hope you enjoyed it!

If you’d like to be notified whenever I release a new book, please sign up for my New Release Newsletter, at
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Ivy’s Choice
is the third novella in the Fey Quartet. The other novellas in the quartet are
Maythorn’s Wish
,
Hazel’s Promise
,
and
Larkspur’s Quest
. I hope you enjoy them all!

The Fey Quartet novellas are the prequel to the Baleful Godmother series. The first six books in the Baleful Godmother series are
Unmasking Miss Appleby
,
Resisting Miss Merryweather
,
Trusting Miss Trentham
,
Claiming Mister Kemp
,
Ruining Miss Wrotham
,
and
Discovering Miss Dalrymple
.

If you’d like to read the first chapter of
Larkspur’s Quest,
the next novella in the Fey Quartet, please turn the page.

CADOC IRONFIST STROLLED
across the hillside paddock. Two mares grazed with their foals: one filly, one colt. He inhaled the meadow scents—clover, ryegrass, wildflowers, horse dung—and squinted up at the sun riding high in a sky the color of robins’ eggs. Two days short of midsummer.

Cadoc dug a couple of last year’s withered, sweet apples from his pocket and gave a whistle. The mares lifted their heads and ambled in his direction. He gave them the apples and looked them over while they crunched happily. Both well.

The foals let him examine them, too. He’d been present for their births, more than two months ago, and spent time with them whenever he could, getting them used to being handled. They stood quietly now while he touched them from head to tail, picked up each leg, tapped the bottom of each hoof. Next came the soft halter, and a turn being led around the paddock. Neither foal balked.

Lastly, he picked the foals up.
Prove to them you’re bigger than them, and they’ll always believe it, even when they stand taller than you,
Dappleward’s old horse master had told him. It was a practice he continued, now that he was horse master himself.

“Won’t be able to do this with you much longer,” Cadoc told the young colt. “You’re getting heavy.” The stab wound in his right biceps twinged slightly. He set the colt carefully down and rubbed his arm. Memory of last week’s events came flooding back: the darkened chamber, Aleyn’s frenzied hatred, Hugh Dappleward’s agonized screams as his body changed from human to roebuck to human repeatedly.

Cadoc grimaced, pushed the memories aside, and bent his attention to the colt. It was a dark bay, large-boned and gangly. Not many horses could carry his weight comfortably at a gallop, but this one looked like he might be able to when he was fully grown. “Keep eating. You need to grow a barrel chest, if I’m to ride you.” He scratched between the colt’s ears, then headed for the stables.

He whistled as he walked, enjoying the sunshine, the blue sky, the sense that everything was right in the world. The Dappleward manor was spread before him: stables and smithy and kennels, kitchen and bakehouse, storerooms, the great hall where everyone gathered for meals. Upwards of fifty people lived here: Guy Dappleward’s family, his retainers, his retainers’ families. The manor was almost a village in itself, buildings and courtyards laid out on the hillside, basking in the sun—and half a mile distant, nestled in the curve of the valley, was the village proper, Dapple Meadow, largest settlement in Dapple Vale, home to nearly a thousand souls.

In the meadow between orchard and river, men were digging fire pits for the upcoming celebrations: midsummer, and the weddings of Dappleward’s two sons. And up on the slope behind the orchard was the quiet, sunny graveyard where the Dapplewards and the Ironfists buried their dead. His mother rested there, and Guy Dappleward’s wife.

Cadoc stopped whistling, and touched two fingers to his brow in a gesture of respect.
Salute, Mother. Salute, m’lady
.

The clash of wood on wood brought his gaze back to the sprawling manor. In the nearest courtyard, two men trained with wooden staves. One was a hulking bear of a man with grizzled hair: his father, Dappleward’s weapon master. Cadoc halted for half a minute, watching. Rauf Ironfist was fifty now, but age hadn’t shrunk him yet, nor slowed him; he was still light on his feet, still fast. His opponent was half his age, strong and lean—and struggling to hold his own.

Cadoc winced in sympathy as his father disarmed Dappleward’s younger son, Tam. He could sense Tam’s frustration from here, fifty yards away.
Give over, Tam, you’ll never beat him. Even I only manage one time out of three
. Rauf Ironfist had been the best warrior in Dapple Vale for the past thirty years, and would probably remain so for another ten.

Cadoc grinned and shook his head and entered the stables. He paused just inside the wide door, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. The stables were cool and shadowy and fragrant. Cadoc inhaled deeply. He loved this smell: horse, straw, dung. Loved it far more than the metal-and-wood smell of weapons. Horses were vibrant and warm and alive; weapons were hard and cold and brought death.

He had a flash of memory: Aleyn Fairborn lying dead on the floor.
Killed by my father
.

Cadoc touched the dagger belted at his waist, half unsheathed it, felt the sharp coolness of the blade. Aleyn had been worse than a murderer. He’d dared to harness Faerie magic to serve his own twisted purpose, had planned death upon death, driven by nothing more than his own greed for power. He’d deserved to die.

Cadoc grimaced. Yes, Aleyn Fairborn had deserved to die. But even so . . .

Ironfists were warriors, sworn to guard the peace. They were the shoulder the Lord Warder leaned on. Wherever there was a Dappleward, an Ironfist wasn’t far away.

But even so . . . I do not like killing.

Cadoc slid the dagger back into its sheath and strode between the horse stalls. He was an Ironfist, he’d fight if he had to—kill if it was necessary—but this was what he preferred: horses.

“Cadoc?” a female voice said.

He jerked around, blinked, and saw a woman standing shyly in the shadows. A young woman, too slender, with hair as pale as moonbeams and a face that was luminously beautiful.

Recognition was like a physical blow. Larkspur Miller.

His lungs seemed to tighten. The muscles in his belly definitely did tighten.

Cadoc tried to look as if he weren’t helplessly attracted to her. He gave her a courteous nod. “I give you good day, Larkspur.”

“And you.”

Five days, she would be here at Dappleward Manor. Five days only. Was that enough time to court her? Would she even want him to?

He knew Larkspur was wary of men, and he knew she’d been afraid of him the first time they’d met. She’d stayed as far from him as possible, unnerved by his size or his face or his reputation as a warrior, or all three. But she wasn’t afraid of him now.

So, court her
. He was twenty-five, past time for marrying. And Larkspur was the wife he wanted. Beneath her quiet shyness, she was strong and courageous. She had risked her sanity to help save Hugh Dappleward.

“Would you like to look around the stables?” Cadoc asked politely.
No, better to show her the foals. She’d like that
.

“No, thank you.” Larkspur stepped closer. Her hands were clasped, her gaze intent on his face. The light was too dim to clearly see the color of her eyes, but he knew they were blue, a blue as vivid as the flower she was named after. “Cadoc, may I talk privately with you, please?”

“Of course. Uh . . . there’s no one here—the grooms are helping build the midsummer bonfires—or we can go outsid
e—
”

“Here’s fine.”

Cadoc nodded, and studied Larkspur’s face. She was still far too thin, not fully recovered from the Faerie gift that had nearly driven her mad. For two long weeks she’d had the ability to read people’s minds—two weeks when every thought, memory, and emotion her companions experienced had pushed relentlessly into her head. That gift was gone now, and Larkspur was privy to only her own thoughts, but something was still clearly wrong; there was a sharp crease between her eyebrows, anxiety in her eyes, and her lovely mouth was tightly compressed.

“What’s wrong?” Cadoc said gently. “If I can help, I will.”

“I know,” Larkspur said, and she smiled at him, suddenly and blindingly. “That’s why I came to you.”

Cadoc’s lungs became even tighter.
Gods
. He swallowed, and found his voice. “Then tell me.”

Larkspur looked away from him. She moistened her lips. “Cadoc . . . that night we all met to find a way to help Hugh . . . there were two ways to save him. One was killing Aleyn Fairborn, and the other was something to do with a Faerie prince buried in a barrow.”

“Yes,” Cadoc said cautiously. That Faerie prince, that barrow, were the most secret of secrets. What did Larkspur know about them?
Everything,
a voice said in his head.
She could read your thoughts then, remember?

Larkspur took a deep breath. “Ivy shouldn’t be lame. She
deserves
not to be lame!”

“Yes,” Cadoc said again, even more cautiously. Where was Larkspur going with this?

Larkspur clenched her hands more tightly together. “Will you please go to the barrow with me and help me earn a wish for Ivy?”

“What?” Cadoc recoiled. “Gods, Larkspur! Of course I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m sworn to Guy Dappleward! I gave my word
never
to approach that barrow, let alone enter it and . . . and . . .”

“Please,” Larkspur begged.

“Larkspur, I can’t!”

“Ivy’s still lame because of me.” Tears glistened in Larkspur’s eyes. “She gave up her wish for me. I have to find a way to give it back to her!”

“You can’t,” Cadoc said gently. “You have to accept that.”

“No!” Larkspur’s voice was fierce. “I know where that barrow is, and I know what I have to do to . . . to
earn
a wish. And if you won’t go with me, I’ll find a man who will!”

Cadoc blenched. “Larkspur . . . do you know what the Faerie prince demands in return for his gifts?”

Larkspur flushed, and raised her chin. “Yes. You all thought of it, all three of you. Tam even thought that maybe Hazel would go with him. And you . . .”

Cadoc wanted to shut his eyes in a wince.

“You thought it was dangerous, but doable. And that it was most likely to succeed with a virgin, because the prince is said to prefer virgins.”

Cadoc did shut his eyes in a wince.

“
I’m
a virgin, and I’m prepared to do it. But I need a man to do it with.”

Cadoc cautiously opened his eyes. Larkspur’s stare impaled him. “You’re my first choice,” she said. “I
trust
you. But if you say no . . . I’ll find someone else.”

“Larkspur, I’m loyal to Dappleward,” Cadoc said desperately.

“And
I
am loyal to Ivy.”

“You can’t tell me she asked you to do this!”