Song of the Fairy Queen (38 page)

They led the horses inside, whether space was cramped or not, but the barn had been built for community stabling and there was more than enough room for both people and horses.

For a moment, it was enough to be out of the wind, although their breath still blew plumes in the cold air as Caleb and Ford yanked the door closed again.

Everyone stood rubbing hands and arms briskly, stamping their feet to restore circulation.

“Give me a moment,” Kyri said, looking up at Morgan, “and I’ll see what I can do about the cold.”

Morgan looked at her.

She smiled a little and stepped away, her fingers lingering for a moment in his.

Her wings fluttered, shaking off the wet snow that still clung to them.

In that gesture he’d come to love, she held her hair back from her face with one hand as she bent her head in concentration, eyes lowered. Her wings unfolded slowly, arching above and around her. In the gray and shadowed light, the red of her gown stood out brightly.

Kyri concentrated, drawing power, drawing down what little light managed to filter through the snowflakes to illuminate the space. Reaching down into the earth for more, she drew it up and in, letting it fill her with the sense of warmth and light, spreading it through her to her wings.

All Morgan could do was stand in awed wonder, a soft breath whispering out of him. As did his people. A sigh went around the room.

Her features calm, serene, Kyri began to glow, or rather her wings did as they spread wider, the trace of brightness at first seen only faintly, a half perceived shimmer through her feathers, a shifting of color from cool crystal to faint sunlight.

It strengthened, warmed and radiated, steam rising from her feathers as they spread and the light brightened, warmed.

Looking at her in that moment, so beautiful, Morgan loved her so intensely and with such amazement he didn’t know how he contained it.

Her eyes lifted in response, the color like sunlight through the sea and meeting his gaze, she smiled, radiantly.

The bitter cold abated.

Smile became grin as her wings beat lightly, fanning the warmth, her eyes twinkling. “Better?”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head at her as he reached out to pull her to him.

“Now you’re showing off…”

Her laughter rang off the rafters, grinning up at him as she wrapped her arms around him in return.

“I’ll light a lantern,” Caleb said, giving Kyri a grin, “the old-fashioned way.”

Looking down into her impish expression, Morgan frowned a little and said, “You never answered my question. Did Oryan send you?”

She shook her head, lowering her eyes a little and looking away, a little abashed. “I sensed you were having a problem and I… missed you.”

It was no more than the truth.

Oryan hadn’t sent her, at least not in so many words, but he’d expressed his worries. His fears mirrored her own. Morgan stretched himself too thin these days, he was wearing himself out. What took her hours to reach took him days, so he was constantly crisscrossing the Kingdom to connect with this group of rebels or that, making contact with his own people, then meeting with Jacob around Remagne.

So, she’d come to see for herself, yes, but more than anything else, she’d come because she missed him. Intensely. It had been weeks since she’d seen him. She missed holding him, his body against hers. She’d missed the scent of his skin, the look of his clear blue eyes, the feel of his mouth on hers. It had been too long since she’d seen him last.

Brushing her hair back over her shoulder, he drew her chin up with gentle fingers, lifted it so she would look at him.

“You came all this way in a blowing snowstorm because you missed me?” he asked, incredulous.

She made a small face and rolled her eyes a little. “I didn’t know about the blowing snowstorm. I never thought to check.”

Morgan took a breath, laughing a little.

“I missed you, too,” he said, drawing her close, resting his chin on her head with a sigh.

He had, too. It had been an ache in him at night, missing her arms around him and his around her. He’d missed her breast in his hand when they slept, the way she could lighten him, the sound of her laughter, the way the color of her long-lashed aquamarine eyes shifted with her mood. She had such beautiful eyes.

The others unsaddled their horses, putting the saddles up, tossing the blankets over the rungs of the ladder to the hayloft to dry. Most had removed their coats.

Clearing a space in the middle of the dirt floor they risked a fire to heat a small kettle, pulling out dried beef, dried peas, and some flour, using snow to make a soup of the beef and peas with dumplings. It was palatable, but more importantly, it was warming and filling. They ate in companionable silence, too tired and worn by the storm to need much conversation.

By mutual consent it seemed, his people ceded him and Kyri the hayloft, after they tossed some hay down for the horses to eat and for themselves for bedding beneath their blankets.

Nestled in the hay, the blanket from his horse beneath Morgan’s bedroll, another blanket stretched over them, Morgan drew Kyri’s warmth close. He’d never have a cold night so long as she was around, that was certain. Not even her feet were cold, he noticed as one slender foot curled around his leg. She felt wonderful, warm and alive, her back pressed against him so that the feathers from her wings were soft against his stomach. His hand was once again wrapped around her firm breast.

They made love curled like that, her body arching against him, her soft cries muffled as she turned her head and pressed her lips against his shoulder to smother them as he filled her. His arms tightened around her as pleasure rushed through them.

Sleep came easier than it had in the days they’d been apart.

Both, though, came awake and alert at the same time, sensing a change in the air. They lay still, listening to the dark.

Outside the wind was still blew, the snow tapped at the boards, whistling through the chinks between them. Both had a rhythm and something had disturbed that pattern.

Kyri turned her head slightly to look at Morgan, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

The horses below them were restless, sensing or smelling something that disturbed them, blowing a little, stamping their feet.

Perhaps it was nothing, but then, Morgan had been trying to lose Hunters. There might have been enough true wolf in them that the sense of them was enough to disturb the horses at least a little.

Morgan drew his trousers on and reached for his sword as Kyri pulled her dress over her head and drew her own.

Bare-chested, Morgan slipped over the edge of the loft, dropping lightly to his feet below.

Wings extended slightly, Kyri did the same, her eyes alert as Morgan touched Caleb lightly on the shoulder.

It was late and dark.

Kyri heard it again, a whisper of sound. She looked to Morgan. He nodded.

The others were stirring, quickly sliding into pants, trousers, or throwing tunics over bare skin as needed.

How many entrances were there? A boarded up window, the door, another smaller one, and one at the back of the building for quick entrances and exits that Morgan had noted earlier.

If they came, he suspected it would be a sudden rush. The boarded up window would give them a problem, but the doors would give them little difficulty.

Even so, when the attack came, it still caught two of his people unprepared. Gavin had taken the time to try to put his shoes on and was caught with only one on, while Jena still reached for her sword.

It took at least two of the Hunters to rip the sliding door back to allow others to bound in, cold air rushing inside, even as the narrower back door crashed against a wall and another Hunter leaped inside, sword in hand.

This time they weren’t relying on claws and teeth.

Even as the doors crashed open Jena dove and rolled for her sword.

Morgan and Kyri faced the first to come through the front, Caleb sliding to Morgan’s right, as Gavin kicked his shoe back off again and into the face of the first to come in the back. The two Hunters who pulled the door open followed the first.

Pulling her belt-knife, Kyri took a step away from Morgan to give him room and herself an additional weapon. She didn’t have to see his small nod of acknowledgement to know he’d given it as the Hunters stalked forward, one step at a time, separating. Caleb, too, had taken a step aside and back, his sword held two-handed.

The first Hunter tilted his head a little as he advanced another step, eyeing them. He smiled and then lunged toward Caleb. All three set themselves, but none of them flinched, as the Hunter halted his lunge.

It had merely been a feint.

Behind him, Morgan was aware of Gavin, Jena and Ford facing those behind them.

A shout came from behind him as the Hunters there attacked.

It had been intended as a distraction. The first Hunter leaped at Morgan, the other two going low, streaking for Kyri and Caleb, this time in earnest.

Morgan caught the swing, parried it, twisting to avoid a slash of the thing’s claws as he circled the Hunter’s blade with his own, trapping it momentarily. He rammed his shoulder into its deep chest and then shoved back hard and fast to get himself clear as it snapped at him. A quick slash of his sword drove it back another step. It snarled angrily.

Two-handed, Caleb battered at the Hunter that faced him, desperately holding his own, dodging the slashing claws by sucking in his stomach, feinting madly as he swept his blade around.

Like a dancer Kyri spun and turned, her brilliant hair and skirts swirling as she caught the slash of the Hunter’s claws with her belt-knife, turning her sword and the Hunter’s blade aside, letting the brute force of it slide down the length, taking the thing off-balance as she whirled away.

Behind them Gavin, Ford and Jena darted in and out, none choosing a target, their swords pricking, slicing, dodging, covering each other as one or the other jumped in, harassing the two Hunters, keeping them off balance.

It was a small pitched battle in close quarters.

The Hunter came at Morgan hard, his sword hammering down, shockingly strong. Morgan was no lightweight with a sword, but he knew he couldn’t take that kind of battering for long. Briefly, he gave way, to draw it in, backing a step, two, as it lashed at him, waiting for the opening. He put as much of his weight as he dared behind the punch, a quick snap, aiming for the fragile bridge of its nose. A satisfying crunch told him everything he needed to know as it staggered backward. He caught the next swing on his own sword and flung it back.

It shook its head, blood flying, lashing out with its claws as it staggered back, earning him a searing scoring across his ribs but nothing serious.

That was its mistake, leaving itself open and Morgan took it, running his sword through the thing’s throat.

Caleb crashed backward into the wall, narrowly avoiding being disemboweled by the Hunter.

Another clash of swords as Kyri’s Hunter rushed her and she spun away, skirts swirling, her sword slicing across its back even as it checked its rush and turned on her again. Morgan flung his own belt knife at it, missing, but its flinch gave her space as he turned to help Caleb.

Caleb gave nothing away, but the Hunter must have sensed its danger as it slashed first at Caleb to drive him back, then spun to spring at Morgan. Morgan met it with a hard, two-handed swing as Caleb pushed off the wall.