The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (15 page)

Her voice was calm, reasonable – as she would speak to a child. “She is his. This raider found her, and took her. You could go. An’ should I release you, none here could gainsay it.” Go?
Go
. . . to leave his love with these . . . creatures? He found his voice, even as Bridget gasped and dug in her perfect nails. His utterance was cracked and ful of fear, but there was no other answer to give. “No. We go together, or not at al .”

The fae woman smiled. The beauty of it took his breath away, but it was a cold, harsh, beauty –

the beauty of the ice storm that glitters and sparkles like diamonds as it freezes the very blood in your veins.

He repeated it, so none would be confused. “Bridget is my
wife
, bonded by blood and flesh
.
She alone is my queen, and she stays with
me
.”

His words were not casual. The Queen, for that’s what the fae woman must be to hold warriors back in such a manner, paced forward. Bridget had talked about her fae heritage – the time spent at court with the other halfling children while her fate had been decided. She’d been ejected from the sithen and had come to live among the humans.

The Queen’s eyes raked Bridget in frank appraisal, from the tangled mess of red curls, to the bleeding soles of her feet. For just an instant Bryan saw his wife as the fae Queen saw her – so pathetic . . . so human.
Of the blood
, but not blood. Worthy to be nothing but a slave.

Bridget saw his thoughts, and tears fil ed her bright eyes to trace silver tracks down her cheeks.

She started to pul away, her features pained and defeated. But it was that pain, those tears that reached him, breaking through the delicate magic that had ensorcel ed him without him even guessing it.

Bryan pul ed her close so that they stood together once again. “
She
is my queen. No other.” The Queen hissed with displeasure, and a frigid wind hit the pair of them like a blow, stealing the breath from their lungs. Bridey’s hair flew back like a snapping banner, her body shivered against Bryan’s from a bitter cold that should like to freeze them both.

“An’ what would you do to save this fae halfling of yours? Would you face the trials?” Another gasp from Bridget, but any words of warning dissolved in her delicate throat as she stopped mid-word. He turned to look at her lovely face, saw the expression of fear, frozen in place as surely as an insect in amber. He understood her worry. No, he was not so tal as some and was built slender and wiry. He was a head and a half shorter than the smal est of the fae raiders. But he was tough, born of ancient warrior stock. And while there were a few foolish enough to start trouble with him, they only did so once. He nodded, and saw pride flicker in her golden eyes. “Aye. If I must.”

“So must it be.”

Two

“Three trials is our tradition. An’ he has faced two already.” If the Queen was ice and darkness, her king was fire and light. He stood tal and proud, three handspans tal er than Bryan. His hair was a red that put Bridey’s to shame, lit with sparks that looked like molten gold, a perfect match for the colour of his eyes. His clothing was the blinding yel ow-white of noonday sunlight, his magic was the heat that could make skin scorch at a whim.

The Queen’s head snapped around as she turned to face her consort. “Two? No. How so, milord?”

He stood, pacing a slow circle around Bryan, who lay bound hand and foot in the stone dining hal .

“The sithen was closing, turning to stone before him. The first trial was when he faced his death, rushing forwards, refusing to turn back and let us have her.” The Queen acknowledged that by a glance at the ruined motorcycle, already knee deep under fragrant flowered vines. The King squatted down beside them, bound as captives on a long banquet table where the other fae ate and made merry. Bryan was forced to close his eyes against the glare. The stone beneath his cheek began warming, until it was almost painful y hot.

“The second trial, my love—” his voice seemed to crackle at his displeasure with the sound of flames “—was when ye used thy magic to ensorcel him. He left her not, came to
ye
not. Have ye lost thy . . . touch?”

Her blue eyes turned from diamond to lava at the insult. “I put no effort behind the sorcery. I was merely toying, not actively trying to bewitch him.”

The King laughed, and his lady frowned. “When I took ye to my side, thy
least
effort would charm the birds from the trees to become as cold as death in thy hand. Yet ye would have us believe ye used less magic on an interesting human who braved the fury of the fae with naught but two tiny bits of iron, than on a
bird
?”

She didn’t respond for a long moment – just tapped one pale finger on her dark gown. The other fae watched the interaction with interest. So much so that they stopped their meal to stare with wide, sparkling eyes. Bryan didn’t understand the politics and Bridey was lost to him for comment.

She remained immobile under her bonds, and he could not feel the touch of her mind on his. He was alone, as solitary in his own head as the day before he met her.

“Then, what shal his third trial be?” the Queen asked coldly. “I assume you’ve come up with something suitable?”

“I believe I have.” He leaned back into the soft leaves of the tree that had woven itself to be a throne. The branches caressed him lightly, brushed the tangles from his hair and gently massaged his shoulders as he regarded them both. With a wave of his hand, Bryan felt the bonds on his ankles and wrists release.

Always show respect before the court, but not fealty. Never let them own you by your own acts.

Bridget’s words came back to him. He hoped beyond reason that the many stories she’d told while cradled in his arms in their bed would serve him wel . Bryan swung his legs off the table and stood. He dusted off the bits of food that the fae had carelessly tossed at him, before approaching the throne. He dropped to one knee but kept his head unbowed and his eyes steady on the King’s golden ones as he waited for the next words.

It raised more than just the King’s brows. Murmuring started behind him, in a language he didn’t recognize. It made him understand that the discussion between the King and the Queen was
meant
for his ears. Interesting.

“What is thy name, human? What shal we cal ye?”

Such a simple question. But Bridget’s words again whispered in his memory.
Words have
power . . . such awful power, among the fae, Bry. Names had to be held close, dear to one’s
heart.
What power might they hold over him if they knew his given name? He felt a smile try to escape, but he put out words to ease the flow of lips over teeth. “I answer to many things, Highness. But
human
wil do as wel as any other. I wear the badge of my kind proudly and hold the word dear in my heart not as insult but as high compliment. I wish to be cal ed
Human
.”

“We insist on your name!” The Queen sounded petulant, a smal child denied a toy. But the King merely nodded, amused at his response.

“I asked what he wished to be
called
. He has answered. Very wel , Human. I offer ye the opportunity to take a third and final trial. Understand that if ye accept, ye
must
complete the trial, or die trying. If ye refuse, ye may leave, but your woman canna. What say ye?” What
could
he say? The only answer that existed in his mind and heart was: “I accept.”

“Without even knowing what the trial
is
?” The question was leading, but how many times had Bridget cautioned him to make his word his bond, and the truth his word?

He rested one arm on his knee and raised his head up even more proudly, not caring to push away the unruly dark curls that spil ed over his brow. “The manner of the trial matters not, Highness. The queen of my heart is worth any price, no matter how difficult or high.” Now he let a smal smile curl up one corner of his mouth. “I must presume that a noble of your obvious intel igence and integrity would make the trial at least
possible
for one of my kind to achieve.”
The fae are proud creatures. Compliments to them are like sugar water to a hummingbird.

Many are addicted and come to expect them after a long life.
Bryan watched as the words had the expected reaction. The King puffed and straightened his shoulders while his queen let out a smal growl of annoyance. “Of course it is
possible
. But hear this, Human. Pretty words wil not help ye in thy quest. Only courage, wits and strength of wil and body.” He raised a hand. “Elwich, come forth.”

The fae of the long hair and armour of light stepped to the throne and bowed his head. “Aye, milord?”

“I have decided ye wil race Human. His dispute is mostly with ye and the prize ye claimed in the outside world.”

Bryan felt air on his tongue as his jaw dropped. How exactly was a race possible against a fae?

The raider smiled slyly. “To where shal we run, milord?”

But now the King settled back in his seat and laced fingers over his flowered vest. “’Twil not be a race on foot, but on steeds.” He flicked his eyes Bryan’s way. “’Tis
possible
, aye? Much depends on your selection. Ye wil each choose a horse from among al we possess. Human wil carry his heart’s queen to the cave at the top of the nearest peak, where the crown stars grow.” Now the blazing eyes moved to the fae, who was likewise shocked. “Elwich,
ye
wil carry my wife and consort, Hermetia. The goal is simple. The first one to reach the cave and crown their queen wins. The loser . . . dies.”

Queen Hermetia chuckled low and Bryan final y felt fear in his heart. How could he hope to defeat a fae warrior and the Queen of al the fairies in their home world? But at least he had Bridget. She knew this world and their ways.

The Queen stood and started towards the horses confidently. But she hadn’t taken two steps before she completely froze in place. She pitched forwards and had not Elwich leaped up to grab her, she would have hit the ground face first. The fae warrior looked up at the King, stunned as both his and the queen’s armour dissolved into so much dust.

“But this is a test of more than just horsemanship, as I said. If Human has no magic, then neither shal ye. When my fair lady queen awakes, she wil be powerless and voiceless, as wil Human’s fiery halfling. But each woman has a personal knowledge and ye must watch and listen to learn what they can teach. I’ve found that true love can often be a . . .
burden
on those who are possessed by it. It robs one of common sense, and magic ability.” The King glared at the white-haired fae and ice painted his words as surely as if he was born of winter. “Isn’t that correct, Elrich?” The King raised an arm and he and the other fae disappeared into a puff of smoke, but his words continued to fil the air. “Have a care, warriors. Let no harm befal your beloveds or face my wrath. I wil be watching thy progress and wil tolerate no trickery.”
Beloveds?
Was the King claiming his consort was loved by another – not true to him? But no matter. That was a matter of politics and none of his concern. Bryan raced to Bridget’s side to find her bonds were loose. She was pliant and could move her face to smile and mouth the words he’d heard so many times –
I love you.
The look on her face said more than words ever could, though, and he was warmed and made certain of his purpose.

But she could utter no sound and seemed terribly weak. “Ah, Bridey. Queen of me heart,” he said softly, meaning every word. “I told you I would never let them take you. We’l be at home before the stew has finished boiling.”

He picked her up easily and she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck. They raced to the horses that were tethered nearby, and he found it strange they were first to the steeds.

The horses tossed their fiery manes as Bryan and Bridget approached. The closer they got, the more agitated the horses became. First backing and pul ing on their reins, and then rearing up to kick with their stone hooves hard enough to raise sparks. Bryan stepped away, baffled. How was he to ride one of these beasts?

But then he felt Bridget’s hand on his shoulder. When he looked, she was shaking her head.

She lifted her arm and pointed past the horses. But there was only dense undergrowth ahead.

Was she suggesting they forgo the horses? “No horse?”

Her mouth moved and he concentrated to understand the words she was saying. “Iffer orz?” She shook her head, not so much angry as frustrated. She slowed down her movements and he mocked the motions with his own lips. “Ifferent . . . Oh!
Different horse!
Not one of these?” She smiled. Wel , the King had said
any horses we possess
, so he presumed they weren’t limited to the ones at the tether. She raised her arm again, and it gave him an idea. He lifted her hand to support her arm and he pointed one of her fingers, moving it slowly until she nodded.

Yes, just through the lush flowers, he could see a building. Without a second thought, he raced into the distance hand in hand with Bridget. From behind him, he could hear Elwich reach the horse line. The warrior’s laugh taunted him as he left the horses behind. “Fool! Ye have no chance now.”

Sure enough, he turned and discovered that the horses were disappearing into smoke. Al except the massive black stal ion with a sparkling blue mane that Elwich and his queen rode.

Although it could hardly be said the Queen
rode
. Elwich had thrown her indignantly across the saddle, as he had with Bridget. The steed reared back in displeasure at the two passengers, but leaped into the air with a rush of wind that nearly pushed Bryan and Bridget to the ground. Bryan turned his worried face to meet his wife’s eyes, but she only smiled and raised her arm again.