Spellcrossed (52 page)

“Is that…?”

She nods, and the tears in her eyes overflow.

I put my arm around her and gaze at the remains of the tree that sheltered pirate treasure and a family of gnomes and a little girl’s dreams.

Maggie dashes away the tears with the back of her hand. “Talk about symbolism.”

Her chin trembles, but she thrusts it out defiantly. She refused to succumb to Faerie. She will not collapse under the weight of this sight. She is as strong as the roots of the gnome tree that stubbornly resist the efforts of nature and man to dislodge them.

Her defiant expression fades and she takes a shaky breath. “I just wish I knew if he was safe. If he was happy.”

I don’t care if he’s safe or happy. Twice, Jack Sinclair has nearly cost me the woman I love. Had he been anyone else, I would never have spent all those months searching for him.

But he is Maggie’s father. And for her sake I say, “The ring will ensure at least one night of hospitality. And with his talent for song and storytelling, I believe my clan will let him stay. Happy? I think so. As much as he might regret leaving you, he’s better off in that world than drifting aimlessly through this one.”

“And what if they tire of him like they did before?”

Doubtless they will. Jack can be fitfully entertaining, but I cannot believe he will hold their interest forever. But again, I search for words that will reassure her.

“It’s just as likely he’ll tire of them. With so many
clans to visit, so much else in Faerie to see, I can’t imagine Jack staying in one place very long.”

“A wandering minstrel.”

“Aye.”

She smiles, and I silently bless Gilbert and Sullivan.

“Let’s go back to the house,” she says, “and open a bottle of wine.”

When I hesitate, her brows come together in a puzzled frown.

I had always intended for this moment to take place on the plateau with the glorious autumn foliage for a backdrop. But even a faery director must occasionally improvise. And this place, this moment when past, present, and future converge feels right.

I take her hands and stare into the face I love more than any in this world or the other—and all the beautiful words I have memorized evaporate. Instead, I blurt out, “Marry me.”

Brilliant, Rowan. Just brilliant. What woman could resist such a poetic outpouring?

Yet Maggie’s eyes are shining and her face glows with an inner radiance more glorious than the afternoon sunlight.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Oh, yes.”

Her mouth is soft against mine, but her arms are strong and sure as they pull me closer.

I grope for the ring in the pocket of my jeans, then hesitate. She notices the gesture and the hesitation, and a small tremor ripples through her.

“I’m sorry. I should have given you the ring later instead of reminding you—”

Her fingertips press gently against my mouth. “Reinhard was right. Every parting holds joy and sadness. Maybe it’s fitting that every new beginning does, too. I’ll look at this ring and remember the other one. But I’ll also remember that it might keep him safe. That you brought him back to me and gave us this summer and
helped him find his heart’s desire.” Her thumb traces the outline of my lips. “I’ve already found mine.”

My hand trembles shamefully as I slip the ring onto her finger. As she stares down at it, I resist the urge to probe her emotions. I chose the ring within moments of walking into the jewelry store in Dale. The bands of gold and silver to represent the intertwining of our lives. Emeralds for her birthstone and mine—at least according to the false birth certificate Jamie procured for me long ago. And the diamond because…well…an engagement ring is supposed to have a diamond.

Now, I only notice that the diamond is small, the emerald chips flanking it even smaller. I should have bought a more expensive ring. I should have let her choose one herself.

She holds her hand before her face. Then her eyes meet mine.

“It’s perfect.”

She flings her arms around my neck and I hold her tightly. A horn blares. We look up, startled, as a car whizzes past. Two young men stick their heads out of the windows, grinning and pumping their fists. I don’t know whether they’re cheering or jeering. And I don’t care. Maggie’s softness fills my arms, her scent fills my nostrils, and her happiness fills my spirit.

Abruptly, she pulls away. “I have to call Mom. And Nancy. And Janet and Hal and Reinhard and…no. Tomorrow. I’ll call them all tomorrow, Scarlett. Tonight is just for us.”

For the first time since Jack’s departure and her brush with Faerie, the shadows are gone. They will return, of course. You cannot have sunlight without shadow.

But the past cannot hold us hostage. And to my dazzled eyes, the future shines more brightly than the golden light of Faerie.