Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (17 page)

And wasn’t that the real problem?
“I’m not sure who that person is anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll help you figure it out.”

Maybe. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know.

Morgan got to her feet and stretched. “Hour’s up. I think that’s enough couch time for now—for me, anyways. You get to stay there and rest up.”

“Not going to add counseling to my bill, are you?”

“Depends. I’ll waive my therapist fee if you promise to suck it up, smile, and make a reasonable attempt to get along with your new hired hand. Deal?”

“Deal. Except for the smiling part—I think that might be harmful or fatal right now with this headache.”

“I’ll accept that as a valid excuse. But only for a while.”

Morgan brought him some coffee and a couple of pieces of buttered toast, then headed out to the barn, leaving him alone with his thoughts. And this time, he couldn’t chase them away by moving hay bales.

One of Uncle Conall’s oft-heard sayings immediately sprang to mind: “Receiving is harder than giving, son. But gifts are made to be accepted.” Caris Ellen Dillwyn certainly qualified as a
gift
—and on so many different levels, that it made his head spin.

Something his Aunt Ruby said was finally starting to make sense too. Ever tactful and considerate, she’d kept her advice and her opinions to herself after his return to Steptoe Acres with his heart and soul in tatters—except for one puzzling thing. Just before the couple left for their new home in Arizona, she’d taken her nephew firmly by the shoulders: “Sometimes the universe conspires to give you what you really want, Liam. And it’s your job to let it.”

Could he let it? Could this exquisite gift really be for him? His head and his heart were divided on the issue, and any opinions from below the belt were automatically suspect. But his gut was saying, “Yes, yes, yes.” At the hospital, the situation had seemed so clear-cut, so black-and-white. There was still no question in his mind—or his gut, where it counted—that he wanted Caris, but now he had a new consideration: Why the hell would Caris want
him
? What had he said or done so far to impress her, except argue with her, be an unsympathetic moron, and, as a finale, throw up in front of her? Christ, he couldn’t have done a better job of turning her off if he’d been a teenager on a three-day bender.

Maybe there was still a chance to show her his
better side
. Mind you, he’d have to find the damn thing first. Kissing and foreplay and sex were simple compared to communication. Hell, even the most basic of conversation could be downright hard.
It’s your own damn fault
, he told himself sternly.
You’ve been alone too long. You’re gonna have to go slow and easy until you get your sea legs back.

If he were really lucky, he wouldn’t hurl in front of her a second time.

FIFTEEN

E
xhausted but joyful, Caris lowered the fiddle at last—and jumped as she heard a sound like tree branches slapping together. Whirling, she saw Ranyon in the bushes at the edge of the woods, rapidly clapping his strange little hands for all he was worth.

“Dear heavens, you startled me!” She realized she had instinctively clasped the fiddle to her breast with both hands, as if to shield it. And that she was far from where she’d started too—her feet had danced her all the way to the head of the tiny stream, where spring water burbled out of the high stone wall of the ridge itself.

The ellyll grinned as she made her way back toward the quilt-covered rock. “And ya surprised me too, good lady. Yer gift fer music is a rare and wondrous treasure.” He hopped onto a log and spread out a cloth of his own. On it was a lovely little feast of bread and cheese and apples, with twin bottles of ale, but though she was hungry, she barely saw it. Instead her gaze was arrested by something that gleamed on top of his bright blue shirt—and as she got closer, she recognized the wide silver collar she’d been forced to wear as a grim. The severed edges of the intricate chain creation were bound together with copper, and broken links hung from it on wires like beads. The entire thing was looped over one of Ranyon’s skinny shoulders and draped across his narrow chest like a bright bandolier.

“Why are you wearing my collar?” she asked, and immediately felt distaste for having called the thing
hers
. It wasn’t hers at all—she certainly hadn’t wanted it. The collar was as clever and exquisite as only fae craftsmanship could make it, but it was nothing more than a tool to imprison her.

“Why, I’m hiding it, good lady.”

Ranyon grinned at her as he slathered a thick slice of bread with butter, and she couldn’t help but smile just a little.

“
’Tis in plain sight, good sir.”

“Ah, but it’s not, dontcha know. As long as I’m wearing it, there isn’t a creature in any realm that can see it or sense it unless I allow them to. ’Twill be safer that way.”

Safer?
All the disquiet that had been nagging at her yesterday returned. “Please tell me what’s wrong, Ranyon. I feel that you’re my friend, yet I can also feel there’s a peril here that you haven’t revealed.”

He motioned to her to sit on the log with him. “Eat up. Ya brought me a
brammer
of a sandwich last night and ’tis my turn to offer a meal.” He waited until she finally nibbled at a piece of cheese, then he nodded. “Aye, there’s more to the truth than what I told ya. The real answer is that we’re in deep troubles, good lady. I didn’t want to cause more concern for Morgan and Jay until I’d thought it through a mite. And I didn’t want to worry ya for something that’s not yer doing.”

“My doing? I don’t understand.”

“There was an anghenfil here yesterday.”

She nodded. “You chased it away.”

“Aye, it left in a hurry, but not all the danger left with it.” His twiggy fingers held out an elaborately tooled sphere of silver, no more than an inch across. “I poked about the ruined shed last night and found
this
atop the rubble. ’Tis made of the same silver as this collar.”

“What does it do?”

“It lures fae creatures—and it traps them. If ya were still a great black dog, this little charm would call to ya, lure ya to it like a fish to a hook. And then you’d be rooted to the spot until the monster came to collect ya.”

Horror made her break out in goose bumps. “
Duw annwyl
, I could have been eaten!”

“If ya were still a grim, maybe—but I’m not thinkin’ so,” said Ranyon. “Anghenfilod feed on magic, but they have none o’ their own. They can’t use spells and they can’t make these little things, or they’d have eaten their fill o’ grims and every other kind of fae a long time ago. Only the Fair Ones can create these.”

“
Maelgwn
gave it to the beast?”

“Aye, and then that fool prince sent the monster here. It wasn’t looking fer any of us, dontcha know. It was searching fer a lost grim to take back to its master.” He pointed a finger at her, and her goose bumps gave way to a chill that went right to the marrow. “Maelgwn is wantin’ proof that yer dead, good lady—or he’s wantin’ ya back.”

“Why?” She leapt to her feet. “Why isn’t it enough that he kept me a prisoner all this time? How much more must I pay for my sins? I’ve lost everything and everyone to the fae. How much more punishment must I bear?” A burst of angry tears surprised her—surely she’d already used up a lifetime’s worth of them that very morning.

Ranyon came over and patted her hand gently, handing her a cloth napkin. “What’s all this about sins? You’ve too kind a heart to have many, and there’s not an ounce of evil in ya that needs punishin’.”

“I . . . I wouldn’t give up my music. That’s what started all of this. I couldn’t do it.” She explained her strict upbringing as best she could, and the little ellyll’s eyes widened.

“
’Twould be far more of a sin to stifle such a pure gift,” said Ranyon. “And as fer the fae, ’twas never yer fault, dontcha know. Lurien alone is Lord of the Wild Hunt, and only he has the power to ride down the guilty. Was it he that came for ya?”

“No,” she sniffed, blotting her eyes and wishing she could stop. Crying was giving her a headache again.

“A’course not. That idiot prince is the one who took ya, but it’s kept me thinkin’ half the night that he must have a reason behind it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Made no sense to me either, leastways not until yer songs filled my ears. Has Maelgwn heard yer music?”

Puzzled, she nodded. “I was playing in the forest above the farm when his hunt chased me down. He ordered me to play for them, and I didn’t see as there was much choice. I . . . I thought if I just amused them, they’d let me go.”

“Aye, they might have. Or they might not. ’Tis difficult to predict what the Fair Ones will do. But tell me now, d’ya remember what was said afore ya became a grim?”

She couldn’t forget. It was the scene that changed her life, and she’d replayed it countless times in her mind, always wondering what she might have said or done differently. “Maelgwn was determined that I should go with him, and it angered him when I refused. I tried to explain that my father needed me—and I took care to be polite about it, truly. I even offered to go with him of my own free will in twenty years’ time, but his temper just grew uglier.” Caris thought carefully. “There was a faery in green—Rhedyn is her name—who begged him not to take me. Maelgwn shouted something about kings needing weapons, and that I was a ‘sword upon the ground.’ It didn’t make a bit of sense to me, but I might not have heard it right.”

“Or maybe ya did.” The ellyll folded his skinny arms and rested his chin on them. “The Fair Ones have stolen away mortals since the very beginning. Not an eyebrow would raise if the prince showed up with a pretty human woman like yerself. So I’m thinkin’ Maelgwn must have wanted to keep ya a secret from the rest o’ the Tylwyth Teg.”

“By making me a death dog?”

“Aye. No one in the Nine Realms would spare a grim a second glance, now would they? And under all that black fur, they’d never notice that ya were a tad different from the rest.”

That was true enough. Grims weren’t treated like dogs in the human world. Instead, they were little more than silent shadows, fae creatures and yet outsiders. She’d felt completely invisible most of the time—except from the bad-tempered prince. “But why would he hide me?”

“Yer music, good lady.” The ellyll folded his arms in front of him with certainty. “As soon as I heard it on the morning air, I knew. He wanted ya fer yer music. ’Tis a weapon indeed, and a powerful one.”

Her eyes widened. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell ya a secret, Caris Ellen Dillwyn.” The ellyll lowered his voice to a whisper, but it didn’t diminish the impact of his words. “An old secret, one that few of the Tylwyth Teg themselves remember. Music has power, dontcha know. It enhances fae magic, and it makes magic of its own as well.”

What?
She could feel her face flush with indignation. “Well, then, why don’t they be making their
own
music? What did they need me for? The old stories talk about the Fair Ones singing pretty songs to lure mortals away. And Rhedyn talked about the songs I could learn from them if I came to their Court.
Duw annwyl
, they sang the great crystals of the Glass Throne itself into being! So whatever was the point of stealing me away from my da?”

Ranyon reached across the little picnic and took Caris’s hand firmly in his twiggy fingers. As before, she was surprised by his strength, although he didn’t hurt her in the least. “Listen to me, good lady. ’Tis not a matter of singing the
right
song, ’tis a matter of singing a song
right.
The Tylwyth Teg can make all the music they wish, and ’tis true that it pleases the ear, and sometimes their songs can even bewitch a weak mortal mind. But I ask ya, are not the Fair Ones cold of heart? Do they have any deep feelings besides spite and senseless anger?”

She shook her head. “Not really, no. In truth, they envy the feelings of mortals.”

“Aye, that’s right.
Emotion has power.
And that’s the key when yer making yer music. How those songs are born outta yer very heart and soul, how they’re a part of you, is a complete mystery to the Tylwyth Teg, dontcha know. And that’s why older stories than the ones you know tell of mortal musicians being spirited away to the faery kingdom. D’ya think the fae created the Glass Throne all by themselves? They may have written some of the words, but they had to have human help, dontcha know. Because only humans can give power to a song.”

“But—but I don’t have power like that.”

“Look around ya, good lady.”

Caris frowned but did as he said. What she saw made her catch her breath—the ground was carpeted so thickly with yellow flowers that the grass was nearly invisible as far as the eye could see. As she watched, more flowers grew up and blossomed before her eyes. “What’s happening? Why are they doing that?”

“Ya did it yerself. Or rather, ’twas yer music that did it.”

It couldn’t. “That never happened before! Not ever!” she protested. “I’m not magic!”

“Yer music is.”

“No, it’s not!”

He patted her hand patiently. “Good lady, the last time ya tucked a fiddle ’neath yer pretty chin, had ya been to the Nine Realms?”

“I . . . No. No, I hadn’t.” A thought occurred to her that made her whisper: “Dear heavens, am I changed?”

“Aye, a little,” said Ranyon. “Yer not fae, if that’s what ya fear. But truly, think of what yer poor heart and soul have suffered. ’Twould change anyone, dontcha know. Yer feelings will be all the deeper for it—and so will yer music.”

“I suppose they will,” she murmured. “So what do I do now?”

“I’m not knowing that. But we’ll figure it out, all of us together. And in the meantime, we’ll keep ya safe as houses, good lady.”

“It’s not myself I’m worrying about. I can’t bring more danger upon Liam. It’s not fair to him. And Morgan and Jay should be warned as well.”

“Aye, well, yer forgetting that Maelgwn and his cursed hunt have already set their sign on this farm, like a wolf marks his territory or a badger marks his trail. I know I said there was little left to interest the prince here, and that’s true, but you and I both know he’ll consider it part of his holdings forever on. So Liam has himself a problem with the fae already—he just doesn’t know it.”

She shook her head. “It’ll be much worse if I’m here. I should leave, and quickly.”

“Ya certainly should
not
! First, ya must know there’s no runnin’ from the Fair Ones. They’ll find ya wherever ya hide. Best to make a stand, like Morgan and Rhys have done.” He shook his twiggy finger at her. “But more’n that, d’ya think there’s no rhyme or reason ta things? Out of all the places in the worlds above and below, you were brought
here
, and
here
is where ya were made human again. I’m thinkin’ there’s purpose fer it.”

Caris couldn’t imagine what that purpose might be. Her fears lessened somewhat, however, as she realized there truly might be more at work than she’d realized. Were there not two people in the house at this very moment who not only knew about the fae but were brave enough to live their lives in spite of them? And among their families and friends were Rhys and Aidan, who had once borne the grim curse as she had. Ranyon was right—what were the chances she’d end up here of all places?

“Feel better yet?”

She nodded as she wiped her eyes one last time. “Thank you, I believe I do.”

“Here, then: I made this fer ya. Maybe it’ll even put the smile back on yer pretty face.” The ellyll placed something into her hand, and she gasped with pleasure. It was the nugget of blue stone he’d charmed when he first met her. Instead of being wrapped with grass stems, however, it was bound with exquisite copper leaves and vines, and suspended on a long copper chain with fine blue beads scattered throughout.