The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (26 page)

This was bad. He couldn’t allow her to violate the treaty between the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha De Danann. King Oberon would be up in arms, they would end up fighting not only the Fir Bolg, but the entire Golden Court and their allies. Few of their own people were truly loyal to the queen. If they had to actually fight against Oberon, Goddess knew how many they would have on their side. Granted, Logan’s uncles, the Seven of the Fir Bolg, were no longer the force they once were, but they had their own resources and connections. And if King Oberon discovered that the queen plotted his downfall, well then, all bets were off. If Haddon wasn’t careful, the queen would destroy them all.

“Owen, get someone to find you a new room.” He left the shivering old man and hurried after the queen into a small chamber off of the throne room. “My queen…”

One of the ladies of the court bustled in. “My lady?” The queen slowed, still encased in that eerie calm. “There’s a gypsy woman waiting. She insists she has to see you immediately.”

“Insists?”

“Yes, my lady, I wouldn’t have bothered you, but she says she has information about the location of the MacElvys.”

“Who is this gypsy?” Haddon asked.

“She says she’s the head of the Boyd clan and that she’s willing to turn them over to you in exchange for your backing her takeover of the MacElvy territories and wealth.” The queen’s eyes blazed, her unnatural stillness cracking.

“My queen,” he said, stepping in, “this is our opportunity. Through this woman, we can penetrate the Seven Brother’s protection and keep the terms of the treaty.”

The queen hadn’t left the court for years. Set up or not, this was the opportunity to keep her here and finally have a source within the tight-knit gypsy clans. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of finally winding up this fiasco.

“Haddon, don’t forget, I want Logan Ni Brennan taken alive. I have plans for him.” Her eyes gleamed. “I’m saving a special place in my toyroom for him.”

“As my lady wishes.” He bowed low and waved her down the corridor to the throne room. He would make sure she interrogated the sod, after he had shown him the repeated use of all the implements in the dungeon.

The hot mid-afternoon sun beat down on Trina’s scalp as she pushed through the hounds milling around Logan and Solanum. After his revelations earlier, she knew she stood between him, his freedom, and his commitment to the prince. Didn’t someone say the definition of insanity was knowing what was real but not believing in reality? She was crazy to trust him. Crazy to let him go off without her.

“You’ll be safer here, lass,” Logan said. “I’ll find Aoife.”

“Take me with you. You can’t leave me here. I’ll go stir-crazy!” And she’d spend the entire time worrying about what he was up to. “I’ll be more use going with you than staying here.”

He winked at her. “Better crazy than dead.” His broody darkness of the morning had fled and he was back to being the lighthearted flirt. “It’s just for a little while.”

“I can help. I need to help.” She’d explained, she’d screamed, she’d damn near pushed herself to the breaking point for her family. How could he not get this? “I just can’t stay here doing nothing.”

“No, I’ll be in Underhill, and there are those who would sell us out in a heartbeat.” He pulled her to him, his lips crushed hers, and a rush of lust weakened her limbs. “I’m not risking you this time. In fact…”

Before she could react, he pulled the sapphire from around her neck and cupped it in his hands. Its heart lit up, the light fluttering in and out before dying. All her hopes of freedom died, too.

“There. Now you can’t follow me.” His charming smile made her want to take a knife and cut his heart into little pieces, just like hers. “And when I return, we’ll see how crazy you are. I might like a little insanity in a woman.”

He waggled his eyebrows and swung up on Solanum, who waggled his own horse eyebrows in a disturbing way.

“What he means is, he’s going to fuck…Hey! That hurt!” Solanum shook his head and whinnied.

“You’ve a hard head, beast.”

“I’ve a hard…ouch!”

“Wait!” she called, but he was gone, the sea of red hounds washing after him through the hole in the hedge that began to seal up, branches and thorns re-weaving themselves into her prison. She ran and dove for the shrinking opening, jerking back when the thorny branches slammed together on her nose.

“Damn high-handed son-of-a-bitch!”

She wiped a drop of blood from her face and glared at the thick barrier of thorns. How could she go from feeling so good about him to feeling so bad? On their return from the tunnels, he’d dropped his dark mood and made her feel like she was a queen, flirting and laughing with her through lunch, and after, when they’d made love. He’d made her come so many times, she’d lost count. His touch was masterful, assured, and so tender she’d grown confident he would treat her like an equal. Now this.

She didn’t know if it was the pure chauvinism of being hundreds of years old and male, or if he had plans of betrayal. There was no doubt it was time to get off her ass and out of this trap. Even if he’d stuck her here out of some confused sense of caring, it was wrong. She wouldn’t stay with a man who treated her like she was a delicate, fragile flower. She needed a man who saw her as a partner, not an encumbrance.

The sapphire gleamed in the sun, its surface undamaged. She held it in her hands, looked at the thorny bushes that blocked her way, and reached for the power.

Soft energy flowed up through the soles of her feet and pulsed through her body. She focused, directing the energy into her arms, her hands, and the stone. She again asked it to open the hedge. The power flowed into the stone and back out but it lay inert on her palm, a pretty enough, rough-cut sapphire with no special glow or heat.

Her heart sank.

“Damn.”

She went back into the cottage and rummaged for the objects needed for serious spell-casting. Candles were easy, as was wine, and bowls for water, salt, and oil. She found a knife that would take the place of her lost athame and carried it all to the flat stone at the center of the clearing to set up for the ritual.

Centered, Trina called the four directions and closed the circle. She asked for the Goddess’s blessing and made an offering of the wine. A symbol of her willingness to give what was needed for the spell and her willingness to give of herself. Taking a deep breath, Trina looked at the dull sapphire sitting on the rock.

Now was the time to reach for the real source of power, the river of energy that fed the clearing deep below the ground. The power that she and Logan had accidentally accessed when they’d rocked the earth, and the energy she was afraid fed the lurking forest outside, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Trina traced her power centers with her Gift, down her neck, down her abdomen, down her legs and through her feet. Down, through the earth to where the node waited for her.

She dipped in with her Gift and a champagne burst of abundant energy flowed in and through her. She laughed, forgetting why she was there as effervescence bubbled through her, floating out of her body as the energy buoyed her up into the sky.

Rolling through the clouds and playing tag with the sunbeams, she thanked the Goddess for the incredible gift of feeling rushing through her. Down below, a tiny body lay on a rock in a small field of grass surrounded by forest as far as she could see. Something tugged on her spirit. She resisted and soared higher but the tug came again, harder. She fell. Tumbling through the clouds, the sky rushed past her and she slammed back into her body.

Her limbs felt heavy and strange. She tried to remember what she needed to do, and then she inhaled. With the first shock of oxygen, it all came flooding back. Gasping for breath, she bent her will to directing the bubbling flow of energy into the stone.

She tried for hours. Chanting and breathing, holding the sapphire and looking at it with her third eye, trying to see if she could discover how Logan’s fae magic had turned it off and if she could turn it back on. But it was no use. Nothing happened.

She dropped to the ground and clutched handfuls of grass in her tight fists as frustrated tears welled up inside. No one was there to hear her. She could let go. No one but her would ever know that she’d gone and fallen in love with an elf. Who, even if he could love her, couldn’t be trusted and didn’t trust her.

A rustling came from the direction of the hedge behind her. The bushes shook and shivered, and the stubborn thorns parted. An old woman stepped through the shivering leaves and Trina’s mouth dropped open. A reassuring tickle of power brushed against the soles of her bare feet as the picture of old Mother Hubbard come to life, carrying an overflowing basket of trinkets in her clawed hands came through the bespelled hedge.

“Hello, deary.” Her voice cracked. “Have you a chair for an old woman to rest her bones in? Mayhap some water?” The old woman crossed the grass, her bent back clothed in a long black dress that could have been worn by a puritan in the 1600’s.

Trina pulled power from the ground and rifled through the defensive spells in her head. “Who are you and how did you get in?”

“Why bless my soul.” The old woman’s face stretched into a leathery grin. “I should introduce myself. I’m the Old Woman of these woods, and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. It’s been a long time since anyone has lived in this old cottage, and I came by to bring you a welcome gift. Can I come up onto your porch and sit a while?”

Trina hesitated. The woman appeared human, but certainly was at least a witch, if not partially fae. Something wasn’t right, but there was no obvious threat, and in fact, the entire situation reminded her of the tests the fae enacted. Most of the old tales had dire consequences for treating old fae ladies poorly.

“I can leave, dearie.” The woman began to turn.

“No!” Trina let the power leak back into the earth. With all her troubles, she didn’t want toads and bugs to come pouring out of her mouth. For that matter, gold and jewels would be just as much a problem. “No, it’s fine. Come up onto the porch and sit.”

Ancient bones creaking her visitor moved slowly up onto the old boards of the porch and settled into one of the vacant chairs. Trina hovered on the grass, not ready to relax, but unwilling to evict her visitor and risk unknown consequences.

Humming a familiar tune that Trina couldn’t place, the woman pulled her basket onto her lap and sorted through the odd assortment of pretty enameled combs, rings, and small, charming inlaid boxes. “Mmmm, now let’s see.” Her dark, beady eyes darted appraisingly at Trina. “I wasn’t sure what would be best for you, but now that I see you, I can tell.” Her voice sharpened. “What’s your name child?” she asked abruptly.

“Tri...” She stopped herself just in time. She resolved to continue to be polite, keep her wits about her, and surreptitiously maintain the link into the node through her contact with the earth. “Trish,” she said instead of her own name. She turned her attention back to the woman just in time to catch a flicker of something that looked like suspicion on the old woman’s face, but it was gone before she could be sure. “Trish McFearson,” she finished.

“Aaah, well that’s another matter then.” The old woman resumed her sorting. “McFearson is an upstanding name. Yes, a McFearson should have a special gift.”

Trina’s heart pounded. This wasn’t right. She’d tried her best to get through that hedge and it let this woman in with barely a twitch? While the old woman went on humming, sorting, and talking to herself, Trina focused her inner sight on the woman’s aura. A frisson of fear iced her skin.

The old woman had no aura.

Everything alive had an aura. Either this woman wasn’t alive, or she was hiding it with a glamour—a strong one. Trying not to let her suspicions show, Trina began to draw power into her still bare feet.

“Mmmmm. Yes, and you have such lovely long dark hair and those green eyes…should have known you for a…McFearson, did you say? Aha! Here is your gift. Practically calling out your name, it is.” She pulled a pair of golden, enameled hair combs from her basket, rose from her seat, and thrust them at Trina. “Go on, take them. Take them.”

The antique combs were of rare Dwarven workmanship, some of the best Trina had ever seen. Delicate whorls of gold inlaid with jewel bright cloisonné, they hardly looked strong enough for her heavy hair, but somehow, she knew they wouldn’t fail.

“No, thank you.” She held up her hand, palm out, rejecting the gift.

“Don’t be rude, dearie.” The woman stepped off the porch and pushed the combs into Trina’s outstretched hand. Trina watched in horror as her fingers curled automatically around the jewelry. “They were meant for you.”

As soon as she touched them the icy-cold, smooth Dwarven gold captivated Trina and she forgot to use her magic. The power drained back into the ground as she stared at the jewelry clutched in her fist.

“Try them on!” Urged the old woman, her face and hands corded in tension. “They were once a MacElvy’s, they should be again.”

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Trina knew the old woman had said MacElvy and not McFearson. Somewhere, she heard herself screaming not to place the combs in her hair. The lure of the Dwarven gold called to her, smothering her common sense and fogging her brain. She could almost hear a far-away tune coming from the combs, calling her to place them in her hair, and drowning out the dwindling screams that no one but she could hear. And then even she couldn’t hear them. In a daze, she swept her hair up, anchoring the combs one at a time in her dark tresses.