The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (10 page)

Regretting her rudeness and wishing she could stick close to him, Trina picked her way through the swell of investigating hounds and over to the sagging porch. She wiggled her toes in the grass, grateful for the feel of the cool earth. Earth that didn’t try to take her over and, in fact, soothed her headache away. Feeling much better, she stopped at the bottom of the old stairs and wished, for once in her life, for shoes.

Testing each soft, weathered board to see if it would hold her weight, she eased up the creaking steps, careful to watch for splinters. Despite the uncared for look, the boards were smooth and splinter free. Thank the Goddess. The last thing she needed was him cradling her foot in his large, capable hands, probing the bottom of her foot with gentle, expert pressure.

Tingles spiraled across the soles of her feet and her heated skin prickled.

No, she didn’t need a splinter.

Logan passed her, sure booted steps never hesitating, he crossed the decrepit porch to the green, flaking door, lifted the ancient brass latch and pushed. The door didn’t move.

“You live here?” she asked.

His shoulders went rigid. Well, well, well. The arrogant elven lord had a sensitive spot.

He tried pushing the door open a second time. “Well, no.” He smiled, but this time she could see it was forced, not as confident as before. “I’ve been…out of the area. This is my uncle’s cottage and he’s letting us shelter here. It should be safe enough.” His face hardened. “If we don’t stay too long.”

Putting his shoulder to the door, he lifted the latch again and shoved hard. The door creaked open with a whoosh of stale air. Dust flew out to sparkle in the sunlight and Logan fell back coughing. Trina peered past him into the dim opening, covering her nose and mouth as the dust settled.

“I haven’t been here for at least a hundred years, but it can't be that bad. Rinnal cares for it too much.” Was that a hesitant tone in his arrogant voice?

“If this is how he cares for things, I’d hate to see what he doesn’t care for.”

He shot her a dirty look and stepped over the threshold into the cave-like interior. She followed him in, testing the wooden floor and sneezing at the puffs of dust she stirred with each step.

Unlike the magical cottage she’d slept in, this was truly one room. In the gloom, she could make out a few chairs and a wooden table. In one corner, a grimy broken brass bed slumped and in the other, some kind of cabinet looked like it functioned as a dry sink. And everything, absolutely everything, was covered with a thick layer of dust.

“Where’s the bathroom? And where’s my room?” she asked, her vocal cords tightening as she took in the room. “Look, if I’d wanted to share a bed with you, I’d have bargained for that in the first place and been done and out of here.”

“Be careful what you wish for, lass.” He raised an eyebrow at her and righted a fallen three-legged stool.

“Our bargain was clear, no sex.” No hot, sweaty sex with the elven lord. No sliding her hands down his chest, along his abs, and down his flat stomach.

“Bargains are rarely that clear.”

She swallowed and he snorted a soft laugh.

“Relax. I believe there’s a loft up that ladder.” He pointed toward the back wall and lifted his voice into a near English accent. "And the facilities are behind the cottage.”

“Outhouse. You mean an outhouse.” Hands on her hips, she channeled her secret lust into anger. “What about a shower? I might’ve been on the run most of my life and lived in some rustic places, but every single one of them had indoor plumbing.” She looked around the room again, taking in the kitchen area and distinct lack of faucets. “What do we do for water?”

“You may not have noticed the well we passed on the way in. It was a little overgrown.” She turned and faced him, examining his face for signs of levity. She searched her memory for something resembling a story book well and only came up with another overgrown flowering plant.

“Do you mean the heap of greenery out there? There’s a well in there? What makes you think there’s any water?”

His eyes narrowed. His voice lost its pleasant edge.

“If there isn’t any water in it now, I will take care of it.”

“No shower. No running water. It's a good thing you can do magic at the drop of a hat. A shower would be a good place to start, or maybe getting rid of the dust.” She imagined the generations of disappointed women she channeled in her tight lips and tapping toe.

“Magic.” He exhaled, the visible tension in his face seeping out with his breath. “Have you been acquainted with many…elves,” he stumbled over the word, “or any of the fae?” he asked.

“No. My family is being killed by your kind. I don’t hang around with criminals.”

“I’ll ignore that.”

“I’ve met a few. Some brownies, a boggart. We’ve had to fight off a few hobgoblins, too. Why?”

“Those are all lesser fae. Tell me what you know about the greater fae, elvatians.” He grimaced. “You call us elves.”

“Elvatian?” She tasted the strange word. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“It’s what we call ourselves. Elf, elves, elven… all human slang. Go on, what do you know?”

“Elves… elvatians,” she corrected herself, as it seemed to matter to him. His frown eased at her use of the word. “You’re powerful magicians,” she said. You conjured that contract out of thin air. And the power that surrounds you is…. well, let's just say you seem to have quite a bit.” Major understatement. She couldn’t let him know that the amount of power he oozed scared her to her toes.

“Well… I didn't exactly conjure the contract out of thin air. It appeared when we struck our bargain and stored itself, tucked away, in a pocket. I simply made it larger. Those sorts of things are easy, and they impress humans. I have my natural magics, my Gifts, but I’m a hunter by nature.”

“Whatever the hell that means.”

Logan stood tall and caught her gaze in his deep crystal blue eyes. His voice became fluid and rhythmic, as if he were reciting his titles. “My magics are those of the wood and woodland creatures. I call the stag and command the wolves. My arrows fly true. When I hunt, I always find my prey.”

The thrum and cadence of his voice vibrated low in her abdomen. Trina drew in close, unwilling to pull free of the snare of his gaze. A strong smell of smoke and leather rose up over the odor of dust and she became aware of his height and power, feeling suddenly small before him as he began to glow.

She shook her head to clear it and backed away from him. “You mean you can't snap your fingers and clean the dust?” She kept her words lemon-tart to cover the shakiness of her voice.

“Well, actually, that’s one of the benefits of having an indentured servant, isn't it?” he grinned.

Trina frowned up at him, still off-kilter from his hypnotic litany.

“You said you would clean, I remember you clearly stating your willingness. We could amend the contract and substitute other favors in lieu of cleaning.” He leaned in towards her and waggled his dark eyebrows, his lips turned up in a suggestive grin. “I think you were the one who mentioned sex.”

“Not happening.”

He snorted and walked over to the table, hair ornaments jingling, and ran a long finger in the dust. “You’re a witch. You have powers. A little cleaning should be easy for you.”

Trina snorted. “I’m a green witch. An earth witch. I’m good with animals and gardens. It takes more energy to do this with magic than to do it the old-fashioned way.” Cleaning this place would require elbow grease, and since that was what she was trading for her life, she’d better make it sound like it was worth it, just in case he tried to amend the contract.

She wouldn’t put it past him.

“If we’re going to stay here, it will require lots of work. Why do you think it will be safe from the queen?” she asked.

The humor dropped from his now wintery eyes.

“Nowhere is completely safe from the queen, but I’ve taken steps. She shouldn’t be looking for you. In her mind, you’re dead.”

Someone crossed her grave and Trina shivered.

“What do you mean, she ‘shouldn’t’ be looking for me?”

“She thinks you’re dead, but she’s not entirely predictable. In fact, I believe she’s much worse than I remember.” He moved around the room, fiddling with things, avoiding her eyes. “And she doesn’t trust me, nor anyone, for that matter.” He stopped and faced her from across the room. “I think chasing you MacElvys is driving her insane.”

Trina stood in the center of the dusty room, her stomach in knots. She was completely at this man’s mercy. Would he keep her safe? Did he truly want to? What could possibly be in it for him to take such risks?

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

Her question held him still. He stared out a grimy window, taking too long to answer.

Anxiety swelled in her throat and poured out of her mouth. “What are you hiding? What’s in this for you?”

She backed toward the open door and away from him, tripping over broken pieces of furniture in her haste.

He was beside her in seconds, gripping her shoulders in a hard, bruising grip, forcing her to face him.

“I’ve given you my word that I will keep you safe. It’s in our agreement. You may not trust me, but I want you to know, my word is good.”

“None of that answers my questions. You say your word is good, but it’s the word of an elf. You ask me to trust promises from the lips of my enemy.”

He shook his head and released her shoulders. “You may doubt me all you like, it’s in your eyes, witch. But it’s true, nevertheless. I keep my freely given word.” He pulled something the size of a walnut from one of the pockets of his long leather coat. “Enough. I brought a bag of supplies. You’ll find food in there for dinner.”

He tossed the tiny object on the wobbly kitchen table and tapped it three times with the tip of a finger. It swelled like a dried bean filling with water. Soon, it was the size of a small potato, and then a melon, and still it grew. It grew until it became a bulging potato sack that covered most of the small table.

“What the…?”

Logan barely glanced at the growing sack. “It’s a giant’s bag. Stays small in your pocket, but carries and keeps a large amount of food.” His lips twisted in a wry grimace. “Call it a housewarming loan from my uncles.”

He turned for the open door. “I’m going to leave you here to start working on your end of our bargain, while I take the hounds and scout out the forest. Although this edge of the Forest technically belongs to my uncles, there are things that make it their home that we want no part of. I would know for sure we are safe before we go to sleep.”

“You’re leaving me here? Alone?” Trina kicked herself for the childish vulnerability wobbling in her voice. She needed to impress on him that she was tough or he might feel he could take even more advantage.

He smiled and the condescension in it tightened her spine.

“Aye lass, I have to leave you here. But don’t worry. The cottage is enchanted. As long as you stay in the clearing, you should be safe. Now, since you’re aware there’s much to be done, you’d best get to work.” He took her shoulders, turned her around, and swatted her on the ass.

She growled and bared her teeth.

The grim set to his jaw relaxed and he laughed, the sparkling sound echoing off the wooden walls. “Aye lass, you’ll be fine. I’m more afeared for the dirt’s safety seeing your fierce expression.”

He left, laughing at her over his shoulder, and mounted up, whistling for the hounds. She ran to a filthy window and watched them trot away, taking with him his laughter, the hounds, and her last feelings of safety.

The late afternoon sun spread shadows in the gloomy interior.

First day of her new job, and it sucked already. Not that she had any options. A year of slavery to one of the queen’s men in the middle of a forest…or death.

Not great choices, but there was one last option.

Picking up a corner of the limp curtain, Trina rubbed a clear spot in the glass. The sun was still high in the sky. It hadn't taken long to get here. She could walk back to the cottage before sunset. The road at the cottage must lead somewhere. Logan had kidnapped her and coerced her into this. She was sure she wasn’t actually bound to a contract made under duress.

She’d made this bargain, she should stay and fulfill it, but she wasn’t going to. Her family needed her. If she couldn’t protect them by finding out how to fix the problem with the queen, she needed to be with them to fight off any assassins.

She thought of walking all the way back through the forest on bare feet and a deep shiver racked her body.

No more avoiding it. This might be her only chance. She straightened up and headed outside.

After making a full circle of the clearing, she admitted defeat. Every foot of the wild hedge had been examined. She’d looked high and low for the space they’d ridden into and Logan had ridden out of just moments before.

No joy.

It had seemed wide open when they’d ridden in, just a simple turning. Now there was no path visible anywhere. She walked until she circled all the way around a second time and still, she couldn’t locate it. In fact, the hedge got tighter and thicker, developing sharp inch-long thorns as soon as she tried to push through. She was trapped.