Outcast (Book Two of the Forever Faire Series): A Fae Fantasy Romance Novel (6 page)

If Kayla could have hated Ryan as much as she hated herself in this moment, none of this would have happened. She felt him reach out to her.

“Don’t,” she said, without turning. “You should sleep well enough tonight. I know I won’t.”

What began as a walk quickly broke into a run. Kayla had to get away from him. Her temper was barely leashed. As she passed the stalls, every horse made furious sounds. They reared, kicked, and pounded their stalls. It sounded as if the barn was about to shake itself to pieces.

But as Kayla flew through the door, she didn’t care. Instead all she could hear was Tara trying to explain what she had done.
He said some stuff. No guy ever talked to me like that. I thought he cared about me. He made me do it.

Now, at least, Kayla understood. Her sister had been telling the truth after all.

J
ANNON FINISHED HAMMERING
the last peg into the wooden stand, and gave it a firm shake to assure its sturdiness. Since the Winter Feast joust always proved to be the most well-attended of their shows, the additional seating would be welcome. Jannon only welcomed the opportunity to pound something other than his skull against a wall.

Still, he’d managed to keep away from Tara Rowe for another day.

Tomorrow he would rise before dawn and take a nag and the old logging cart into the woods. Perhaps he’d build a hovel for himself there. Ryan often retreated to his, and if Jannon locked himself inside, in time he might rid himself of this damnable awareness of her. Even now he swore he could feel the willow-o-wisp warmth of her body, and smell the tantalizing scent of her skin.

“I didn’t know you were a carpenter,” a low voice said behind him.

Jannon kept his back to her as he plied his hammer against nothing that needed it.

Tara came around him and stepped under the stand, bracing her back against a strut. “You can talk to me, you know. My sister won’t tear your head off if you do.”

“Think again.” He shoved his sledge into his work belt. Perhaps rudeness would send her away. “Why do you plague me now?”

“Sorry. I wish I wasn’t a disease.” She looked away from him. Regret instantly lanced through his chest. “But I can’t stop being a changeling, right? Can’t hand in my evil little sister card. Can’t escape whatever is coming.”

Jannon tugged her out from under the stand and studied her delicate face. “You are not evil. I could not abide evil in my bed. The slime, the flesh-piercing spines—none of which you have.” He forced himself to let her go, but tapped the tip of her nose. “There. Give back that card.”

Tara didn’t laugh as he’d expected. “Not quite yet. My sister had this woman come to read the tarot for us. My cards were full of swords and prisons and darkness. It was like the worst tarot reading ever.”

Jannon wondered if he should tear off Kayla’s head. “Tell me you did not pay coin for this foolishness.”

“No, it was free.” Her chin wobbled. “I think that makes it worse.”

Tucking her against his chest felt as natural to Jannon as stroking a soothing hand along the delicate arch of her spine. “Prisons can be escaped, and darkness may be defeated by no more than a single candle. As for the swords, I am very good with blades, so you may give them to me.” When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Have you spoken to your sister about this?”

She shook her head against his chest. “She’s mad at me. Sick of me, too. She wants to be with Ryan, and I’m always in the way. Well, not for much longer.”

Alarmed now, Jannon drew back, holding her at arm’s length. “What are you saying, Tara? You know you cannot leave the camp. Never tell me you are thinking of going to Dirk Blackstone.”

“It’s okay. I’m staying. I have to.” She looked down at his boots, and then jerked her head up, a strange urgency in her eyes. “Will you dance with me at the Winter Feast?”

Jannon grimaced. “I am not much for dancing. Brawling, now, I am your man.” As soon as the words left him he silently cursed himself. “What I mean to say is, there will be others more capable as partners.”

“But no one else likes me but you.” Her smoky eyes filled with shadows. “Just one dance, please?”

The little wench had his battered heart in her grip, Jannon thought, and he was never going to pry it free. “Wear stout slippers tomorrow night.”

“You’d never hurt me.” A sad smile touched her lips before she turned and walked toward the tents.

As Jannon watched her go, he wondered why she left him feeling that her words had meant more. He swatted at something crawling over the back of his neck, and then felt the uneasiness leave him.

“So I am to dance.” Jannon bent to retrieve the sack of joining pegs. “’Twill be easier than brawling, surely.”

“
W
E MISSED
YOU at the evening meal, my liege.” Wallace carried a tray of food into Ryan’s rooms, but set it down as soon as he saw his face. “What now?”

“The Rowe sisters.” Ryan gestured for the spell tracker to sit in the chair opposite his. “I need you to take a closer look at them. Do you have your crystal with you?”

“I have been carrying it of late.” Wallace removed a black cloth from his vest pocket and unwrapped it to reveal a small, opaque shard. “What do you wish to see?”

“Their past,” Ryan told him. “Take me to their childhood.”

The blacksmith spread the white cloth over his hand, and placed the shard in the center of it. As he murmured in the ancient tongue, the crystal came alive with shimmering light. The shard rose from the cloth to hover over it, slowly turning and sprouting new angles. When he had finished the spell, the shard had expanded into a whirling, glittering sphere.

“Open,” Wallace said, deftly moving his hand through the silver light. The crystal elongated and flattened. When it formed a two-sided oval mirror, he touched his fingers to the crystal surface. “Kayla and Tara Rowe, as children.”

Ryan watched as a young girl appeared. She held a blanket-wrapped infant, and watched an older man packing suitcases in the back of an old car.

“Aren’t we going to wait for Mama?” the girl asked the man. When he didn’t reply, she tightened her arms around the infant. “Daddy, what if she comes back, and we’re not here?”

“She’s not coming back, sweetheart.” The man took the infant from her, which made the baby cry. He ignored her screams as he strapped her into a safety seat. “Now get in the car. Go on, Kayla. I want to be in Georgia by tonight.”

“There,” Wallace murmured, and pointed to a barely perceptible, dark glow surrounding the car seat as well as the young girl. “Spell trace from the curse placed on them. To be so visible it must have been cast just before this event.”

“Can you see earlier?” Ryan asked, but when Wallace passed his hand over the surface it filled with a thick, dark seething smoke.

“More enchantment,” the blacksmith said, drawing back his hand. “The spell not only cloaks the children, it forms a barricade around the time of the casting. Whoever cursed these children made sure no one would ever discover who did it, or why.”

Wallace didn’t have to tell Ryan that such safeguards were almost always invoked to protect a changeling.

“Take me to their home in Florida, and show me the rest of it.”

The dark mass cleared, and more images appeared on the mirror. This time it showed young Kayla giving bottles to the baby Tara, and changing her diapers, and bathing her. Ryan noticed the man always hovered somewhere in the background, not helping the girl but never taking his eyes off her.

“Would you take her, Daddy?” Kayla asked as she finished feeding the infant. “I need to do my homework.”

The father’s mouth thinned. “Then put her in the playpen. She’ll only scream if I hold her.”

Kayla’s eyes swam with tears, but she carried the baby to a high chair, and put some cereal on the tray before she started reading a text book and making notes on a sheet of paper.

The baby, Ryan noted, didn’t touch the cereal, but watched her sister as closely as the father had.

Wallace summoned more images that showed the father, drinking himself unconscious, the baby teething, and young Kayla falling asleep in class. He watched the times the children had gone hungry as their father spent his wages on drink instead of food. Somehow Kayla always managed to find something to feed Tara, even if it meant asking a neighbor for a cup of milk, or stealing some fruit from a grove on her way home from school.

Many times he saw Kayla crying in her bed, but always sobbing into her pillow so that the baby in the crib beside it would not wake. He also watched her sneaking money out of her father’s wallet while he sat unconscious in his chair, a half-empty bottle still clutched in his hand. Even when she went to the grocer to buy food, Kayla was never alone. Tara nattered happily to her sister from the store cart’s baby seat.

“They were inseparable,” Wallace said as he regarded the mirror.

“Aye.” If the father had still been living, Ryan would have found him and throttled him. “I wonder how she speaks so fondly of that man.”

Wallace passed his hand over the crystal. “Answer.”

The next image showed an older Kayla struggling to take Tara from a grim-faced police officer.

“You don’t understand,” the girl had to yell the words to be heard over her screaming sister. “My dad will be home from work soon. I’m babysitting her for him.”

The patrolman handed the writhing, squalling child over to a tired-looking older woman. “Honey, your dad is in trouble. He drank too much and crashed his car. Where’s your Mama?”

Kayla stared at the floor. “She’s dead.”

“I’m real sorry about that,” the officer said. “You got any other family?” When she shook her head, he sighed. “Well, then, until your Dad gets everything worked out, you girls have to stay at the children’s shelter. You’ll be safe there, and the ladies who run the place can look after the little one.”

Kayla hardened her eyes, and her expression grew calm when she looked up at the man.

“Tara doesn’t like strangers. I’m the only one who can take care of her.”

Ryan’s stomach clenched. “Oh, love.”

Wallace brought up another image, this of the two girls arriving home with their father, who had a bandage on his head and looked defeated.

“No, Daddy,” Kayla said as her father went to the refrigerator. “You heard what the judge said. No more drinking, or they’ll take us away from you for good.”

The father knelt before her. “I don’t know if I can do that, sweetheart. I can’t stop thinking about your Mama. I miss her so much.”

Tara, who was in Kayla’s arms, leaned out and clasped her tiny hands around the father’s neck. “We miss you, Daddy.”

Over her head the man’s eyes filled with tears, and he embraced both girls.

Ryan and Wallace watched the rest of the images, which showed the girls’ childhood gradually improving. The father never lost his gaunt, haunted look, but from that point he stopped drinking and devoted himself to his daughters. The images made it plain, however, that it had been Kayla who had held the family together.

“I understand now the bond between these girls,” Wallace said as the last image faded from the crystal. “Kayla had to be both mother and sister to Tara. But why did you wish to see the whole of their childhood?”

It took a moment for Ryan to realize what Wallace had asked. “I think this curse on them protects more than the changeling,” he told the smith, and described how the horses had behaved when Kayla had left the barn.

“The nags are very fond of her,” Wallace reminded him as he collapsed the crystal, and pocketed it. “Still, she has an uncanny way with them. You think her gifted, too?”

“I think I have never seen every horse in a barn try to break out of their stalls when there was no fire.” Ryan rubbed his eyes. “And when I went to Titan to try to calm him, he bit me, hard enough to draw blood.” He showed the blacksmith the fading crescents of his horse’s teeth embedded on both sides of his right hand. “I have had Titan for five hundred years, since he was gifted to me by my father’s stable master. In all that time, he has never so much as nipped me once.”

“You already know the truth of it, my liege,” Wallace said, and sighed. “No mortal can control a Fae horse, much less an entire herd of them.”

“Could a curse account for such a talent?”

Wallace’s brow furrowed, but he shook his head. “Not to my knowing. Mask them, yes. Hide their true nature, yes. A curse would likely ensure they produce no children, cloaking their true life energy. But bestow a gift? No.”

Ryan saw how Wallace was looking at him. “She is no changeling.”

The blacksmith grimaced. “I should hope not. One in camp is enough.”

“
C
AN
YOU SET my wife up as the target?” a skinny redneck asked Christine, and grinned at the chunky, scowling brunette beside him. “Come on, baby. It’ll be fun, and you know my aim is for shit.”

“Well, if I do that, sir,” Christine said, “it’s only fair to let her have a turn at you. Ladies go first at my game.” She regarded the embarrassed woman. “How’s your aim, hon?”

That made the skinny husband go still, while the wife grinned and said, “Mighty good, and he forgets I’m part Shawnee.”

As the couple tossed their hatchets together, but not at each other, Christine spotted Colm walking with Ryan out of the lane of medieval craft shoppes. It hurt a little now to see other women walk by him, unaware of the amazing face he hid under his boring mortal mask.

Glamour,
Christine corrected herself as she turned to award a stuffed dragon prize to the redneck’s wife.
I wish I could do that. I’d make myself so beautiful he’d never think of that heart-stealing bitch of a Fae Queen again.

A sweet sensation raced up her right arm, and Christine looked over to see Kayla leading a pair of horses in jousting gear toward the arena. She measured the distance between her friend and Ryan, in the process catching Colm’s eye. She tilted her head toward the armored horses before she clipped up the CLOSED sign and trotted over to Kayla.

“Hi there, my favorite lunch pal,” she said quickly, keeping one eye on Ryan as Colm stopped and gestured in a different direction. “I didn’t think there’d be a bout today.”

“Gavan and his crew want to practice some new razzle-dazzle for the sunset joust,” Kayla told her. “Listen, about lunch.”

“You’re not hungry, I know, but you can sit there and have some coffee while I stuff my face,” Christine told her firmly. “I have the best gossip in camp. Like how I saw turkey leg gal doing the walk of conquest at the lodge this morning. You’ll never guess whose room she sashayed out of, either.”

Kayla handed the horses off to a member of the arena ground crew before she turned to Christine. “Jannon’s?”

Odd how she never suspected Ryan, Christine thought. “It will cost you lunch to find out.”

A few minutes later she and Kayla sat in a corner of the dining hall. Christine gossiped and ate two chicken sandwiches while watching her friend mope over the coffee she’d let grow cold.

“So Gavan is definitely in a better mood today,” she told Kayla, and offered her a slice of her apple. “Maybe you should go to his room tonight, and attack him. Turkey leg gal has nothing on you, girlfriend.”

“Uh-huh.” Kayla absently nibbled on the fruit while watching the nearest window.

“Or I could come with you to visit your favorite jouster,” Christine offered. “I think Big Guy likes me—when he notices me, which is only when you’re not around. Maybe I could give him a lap dance while you cry over him. Bet he’d noticed that.”

Kayla picked up her cup, took a sip, grimaced and went back to window watching.

“Tell you what. We’ll let him pick who he’d like to kiss all over until dawn. The other one has to watch.” When that didn’t get a rise out of her, Christine added, “Kayla, look, it’s Ryan, right behind you, and he’s naked.”

The other woman whipped her head around before scowling. “Very funny. Excuse me, I have some real shit to shovel.” She got up and stalked out.

“So that went well.” Christine got up and disposed of her lunch remains.

Colm stood waiting outside the lodge, and came over to Christine as soon as he saw her. “He’s at the arena.”

“She’s at the barn.” She checked her watch as she fell into step beside him. “I can keep an eye on her until tonight, but then what’ll we do?”

“I’ll keep her dancing while you talk to Ryan about the Fae.” Colm sounded as harassed as she felt. “Take him away from the feast. Perhaps to your room. Ask as many questions as you can. Pretend you don’t understand his answers.”

She scowled a little. “He knows I’m not that stupid,” she snipped, “and I wanted to dance with you at the feast.” She gave a quick wave of her hand. “Never mind.”

She turned to walk back to the hatchet toss, caught her foot on a root and fell. Colm grabbed her, but not before her knee hit the ground. A sharp pain erupted at the front of it.

“Damn it all,” she muttered.

Colm helped her up and eyed her leg. “You’re bleeding.”

Before she knew what was happening, he swung her up into his arms and carried her back toward the lodge.

Although Christine tried to see what had happened to her leg, and where he was taking her, in moments he was shouldering his way through a door and some curtains. He set her down on a soft, pillowy surface, where he left her and moved away. As he flicked on the lights Christine turned her head around, and stared in astonishment at the splendor that surrounded them.

The room had been furnished like some fantasy movie, with moss-colored drapes and velvet-upholstered furnishings in every shade of brown. Antique lamps with stained-glass shades glowed in bronze, green and gold panels shaped like leaves. She didn’t recognize the dried flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, but they must have been what scented the air like a forest. She got hungry again as she counted the huge brass bowls of fruit and nuts, and smiled at the bird feathers arranged in fanciful displays on the walls.

Colm knelt by the settee. “Be still.” He gingerly lifted the torn and bloody skirt of her costume, and raised the hem to her thigh. A piece of broken glass protruding from from the skin. “It is not so bad.”

“You sound disappointed.” She watched him leave her again to retrieve a large red bottle and a small wooden box from a shelf. “This is your room, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” His black hair took on a reddish glow as he opened the box and took out more herbs. “You expected a pallet and some books?”

“No.” She’d never expected to be invited in, not that she’d spoil things by mentioning that. “I just never thought you’d be so…artistic.”

“We spend many months here every winter, and I like my comforts.” He came back to her, and put his hand just above her knee. “I will remove the glass now. It will hurt, but be still.”

She nodded, and winced as he slowly eased the dagger-like glass out of her flesh. Blood streaked down the side of her leg, which he mopped up with a piece of white linen.

He uncorked the red bottle and eyed her. “This will hurt more.”

“I’m not a baby,” she assured him, and then howled as he poured the dark liquid over her wound. “All right, I am.”

“’Tis firewine,” Colm told her, his face and body shifting into his Fae form. “It will keep it from festering.” He folded the cloth into a long bandage and tied it around her knee before offering her the bottle. “It tastes better than it feels.”

Christine snatched the bottle from him, sniffed the opening, and took a healthy swallow. “Mercy,” she gasped when she could breathe again, and pushed the firewine back in his hand. “You didn’t buy that at the liquor store in town.”

“We saved the son of a clan leader, who to this day keeps our cellars stocked.” He took a swallow, and sighed. “I should have seen your tumble before it happened. Forgive me, Christine.”

“Is your mojo on the fritz?” she teased.

“I was distracted.” He checked the bandage and stood, holding out his hand. “Come, show me if you can bear any weight on it.”

She placed her fingers over his palm, and gingerly got up, wobbling a little as a flicker of pain danced up her thigh. Her hand moved to his arm as she shifted her weight, and his hand went to her waist to help support her.

“It’s not so bad.” She looked up as he bent his head to peer at her knee, and their noses bumped. “Sorry.”

“I should not have asked you to help me keep Kayla and Ryan apart,” he admitted, and kissed her forehead. “’Twas my responsibility.”

“I’m usually not such a ninny.” She leaned against him, and the feel of their bodies pressed together made her sigh with pleasure. “But you can play doctor with me any time.”

“Brazen wench.” His hand crept up her back, splaying over her spine before he tucked her head under his chin. “Even when I know it can come to naught, you tempt me.”

She could do with a bit more of that, Christine thought, and turned her face to nuzzle his throat. “I love how you smell. You’re Christmas morning, and the first night of carnival, and hot caramel on chocolate ice cream with a great big old cherry on top.”

Colm tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. “I am not for you, my lady.”

Christine kissed him anyway, and the world upended.

Somehow Colm got her down on the settee again, and covered her with his long, strong body as he kissed her back. His mouth was so hungry that at first all Christine could do was hang on for the ride. Then her own, much-ignored desires woke up and started issuing demands for the hostages of her breasts.

Colm must have heard them, because he freed them from her blouse and cradled them in his clever hands, squeezing them as he wrenched his mouth from hers and attacked. He engulfed one throbbing peak and then the other, rubbing his face over and over against the firm curves.

Between her thighs Christine felt the delicious nudge of his erection, and wanted to shriek with joy. Incapable? Her ass. He was big and hard and ready for her, and her starved little pussy practically gushed with anticipation. Christine covered his face with soft, eager kisses as she reached down between them to give his confined cock a nice, long, slow stroke of her fingers.

Someone hammered on the door before opening it. “Colm, I need–”

Ryan stopped short as he stared at them.

“I need him more,” Christine said. “Come back later. Like tomorrow. Or next Tuesday, okay?”

Slowly the weight of Colm lifted, and he covered her damp, heaving breasts with what was left of her blouse. “Forgive me, my liege. How may I serve?”

“Hey.” Christine sat up. “I was here first.”

Ryan looked from Colm to her and back again. “I will speak to you when you are… I will speak to you another time.” He left.

Colm stood with his back to Christine. “This should not have happened.” He shifted into his mortal form. “Can you walk?”

“After that? I’m not sure,” she snapped. “Get back here and make sure I can’t.”

He finally looked at her. “You are a lovely woman, and any man in this camp would be proud to have you as his. I cannot take you. No, that is not the truth. I do not want to take you, Christine. I have never cared about you as anything but a woman who shares kinship with me. I never wanted this, but it is more than that. I cannot have you.”

She went rigid. “You’re a liar.”

“I should have told you.” His mouth flattened. “We’re both Fae. We can’t lie to each other.”

“That’s good, because I hate–” the last word stuck in Christine’s throat, and she stared at him in horror.

“Not even when we should,” he said sadly.

“Well, then, I apologize for my confusion. Must have been that rod you were trying to rub through my clothes.”

She would not cry in front of him. Instead she struggled to her feet and hobbled out of the room. Kayla was right. It was time to leave this place in the dust.

Christine only had one bag to pack, so in ten minutes she was changed and headed out to her truck. She promised herself that this time she wouldn’t stop until she reached Miami, where the winters were warm, the clubs were plentiful, and the men supposedly tipped with tens and twenties.

She drove through the gates, stopping at the nearest gas station to fill up her tank for the long haul. She didn’t realize tears were streaming down her face until they started plopping on the handle of the gas pump hose.

“I love him.” Christine wanted to spit, but it seemed she couldn’t even lie to herself. “I love him, and I’m going back, and I’m making him into a liar.”

Digging her wallet out of her bag, she wiped her face with her sleeve and went in to pay the attendant, who gave her a ridiculous grin and too much change.

“I gave you a twenty, not a fifty,” Christine said as she offered him the extra bills. A big hand clamped on her wrist as the attendant shifted into the weasel-faced biker from the club.

“Why don’t we take it out in trade?” Beck Blackstone asked.