Warrior’s Redemption (5 page)

Whether by trick of moonlight or magic, the woman before him was no gray-haired matron but a maiden. A lass at the peak of womanhood.

By Freya, she was beautiful!

In his chest, his heart pounded even as he fought to control his erratic breathing before he once again moved from behind the tree to catch another glimpse of her. Carelessly, his step snapped a dry branch, and across the field her head swiveled toward the spot where he stood. When their eyes met, the air shimmered as if a thick curtain had been pulled between them.

For the second time he wiped a hand over his eyes to clear his vision. When he looked again, the Elesyria he recognized approached him, her face much older than he’d imagined only moments before, but her eyes still shining with her joy.

“Good evening, Northman,” she greeted sweetly. “Did you satisfy your curiosity with your spying on me?”

“Good evening, Elf.”

He tipped his head respectfully, careful to hide the smile their shared greeting brought to his lips. A week ago he would have scoffed aloud at the suggestion that he would fall into such a comfortable routine with this woman.

In the face of his self-imposed control, her smile broadened, her eyes twinkling.

“Ah, Patrick, you are such a joy.” She linked her arm
through his, patting his hand as she did. “Walk with me. I’ve had the most wonderful Samhain.”

She was infectious in her happiness and, at last, he allowed himself the weakness of returning her smile.

“So tell me, my lady, what has made this evening so special for you?”

“My Goddess has brought me wonderful news. My Isabella lives, though far from this time. She’s happier than I could ever have hoped, and I have your brother to thank for that.”

“You spoke to . . . your Goddess.” In light of her happiness, Patrick meant to remove any traces of doubt and sarcasm from his words. To his ears, though, he’d been less than successful. “She was here, was she?”

Who was he to question what comfort the woman took from her religion? If their positions were reversed, he couldn’t say how he might react to the loss of a child. Even a child grown to full womanhood.

Again she grazed him with the glow of her smile and again, for just an instant, he could have sworn her visage shimmered between maiden and crone.

Likely he needed sleep. He should be flat upon his back lost in dreams rather than chasing after this woman into the early morn. But a promise was a promise.

“Yes. When the curtain between your world and mine thinned as is its custom on Samhain, my Goddess came to me, bringing her most welcome news. And that’s not all.”

She squeezed the arm that linked through hers
and tipped her head toward him, just as he’d often seen women do when they were about sharing secrets.

“There’s more?”

“Yes,” she breathed close to him, her words barely more than a whisper. “My Goddess, so wise and knowing, gave me the perfect solution to my dilemma of what to do about your brother.”

Patrick wasn’t at all sure he liked the sound of that.

“Then you’ll be leaving us soon, my lady?”

“Oh my dear . . .” She pulled back from him, her laughter hitting the stones under their feet and bounding away like notes of music. “I can hardly leave now.
Now
is when our dear Malcolm will need me most. Look there!” She lifted a hand toward the sky. “Did you see? A shot of silver streaking through the sky. Proof the actions promised by my Goddess have been set in motion.”

A hint of unease traveled across Patrick’s shoulders. “Explain yerself,” he demanded, perhaps a bit more forcefully than he’d intended. He was, after all, quite tired.

She shook her head, her eyes still shining with happiness. “No, dear Patrick. There is no explaining some mysteries. You’ll simply have to wait to see for yourself.”

No more words passed between them, Patrick’s thoughts consumed with what the blasted Elf had in store for them and how in the world he would explain all this to Malcolm.

C
OMFORT
, W
YOMING

P
RESENT
D
AY

W
ORD IS, I
make a mighty good bed warmer, darlin’, and it’s terrible cold out here tonight.”

Like Dani couldn’t have predicted this happening from the moment her date had arrived to pick her up this evening, a leer on his face and a bottle of Jack tucked into the back of his waistband.

She stepped backward into her doorway, turning her head from the scent of alcohol and too much aftershave wafting off her evening’s companion.

“Whatcha say, Dani-girl? You gonna save me a long drive home tonight?” The corner of Lover Boy’s mouth lifted in a half smile that had likely melted a whole slew of hearts in this part of the state. “I ain’t had me no complaints yet.”

Did he honestly expect that she’d be impressed by references from other women?

“There’s always a first time for everything, you know.”

His expression hardened and she immediately
regretted her stab at humor. Aunt Jean always had said that sharp tongue of hers was going to get her into trouble.

“You turnin’ me down?” No trace of humor in his response. “Or you gonna do the right thing and let me stay the night here after that fancy dinner I treated you to.”

The vision of opening her purse and tossing cash at him flittered through her mind, quickly discarded. She’d put up with his wandering hands and his innuendo-filled conversation all night. That more than made up for the lousy fifteen dollars he’d dropped on her meal.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Clay.” Think? Hell, she knew. She was simply trying her best to be nice. “I have to be in the diner bright and early in the morning. Those cinnamon rolls don’t bake themselves.”

“Won’t bother me none if you crawl out early.” He leaned toward her, his oily half smile back in place, one hand reaching out to trail her cheek as if his physical touch might push her to decide in his favor.

Not happening. Another step back and she was inside, able to use the door as a barrier.

“Sorry, Clay. I had a nice evening, but I’m beat. See you later, okay?”

She didn’t wait for his reply before shutting the door and sliding the bolt home, setting the glass chimes next to her door tinkling.

This
was exactly the reason she didn’t like to date customers who frequented the truck stop where she
worked. More often than not, they assumed that just because she lived in a room at the attached motel she’d be quick to hop into bed with them at the end of the evening.

“As if,” she whispered, tossing her purse on the table before crossing the room to perch on the edge of her one easy chair.

Just because she’d agreed to let this guy drive her all the way into Cheyenne for a decent meal she didn’t have to cook herself was no call for him to go expecting more than a kiss on the cheek.

But he had expected more. They always expected more.

Too bad the few men she had dated since she’d been here weren’t more honest with each other when they discussed the evening they’d spent with her. A little honesty might have saved good ol’ Clay a long, disappointing drive home. Alone.

“Screw him,” she growled, kicking off the uncomfortable heels she’d worn for her evening out.

The words had hardly passed her lips before she started to chuckle. “Or more precisely,
not
.”

Besides, she had bigger plans for her evening than Clay Carter could possibly imagine.

She leaned forward and flipped on the television, waiting for the grainy picture to come into focus. As long as it was taking, the wind must be wreaking havoc with the satellite dish again. Not that it really mattered. She only turned it on for background noise while she got everything ready for what she’d planned tonight.

Within minutes, she was out of her dress and into
a comfy, oversize T-shirt. One more task and then she could get down to business. She pulled on a pair of jeans, slid her feet into some well-worn boots, and stuck her arms into the heavy sweater hanging by the door before opening her tiny refrigerator to remove a small carton of milk.

Opening the door, she stepped out into the cold and tugged the collar of her old sweater tight around her neck in an attempt to block the wind now tinged with the first light touch of sleet. She hurried across the parking lot and out to the back side of the little motel, away from the lights of the truck stop next door, to an ancient cottonwood tree. Squinting against the biting sting of tiny ice pellets hitting her face, she poured milk into the little bowl she’d fitted into the crook of the lowest branch.

“Here you go, Faeries. Hope you’re all in a listening mood tonight.”

She hadn’t missed a day in fifteen years and she wasn’t going to miss tonight, not even if it meant freezing her butt off out here. But she had to admit, one little sign of appreciation for a change would be a nice thing.

Ice clung to her hair by the time she stepped back inside her warm little room, melting almost immediately into little drops of cold water.

Great. Either she took time to dry it now, or she’d be a mass of out-of-control curls in the morning. A glance at the clock confirmed it was already after eleven. No time for primping her hair.

Curls it would be.

A quick towel-dry and she reached to turn off the television, stopping as an ad for some party shop in Denver caught her attention. The actors cavorted like amateurs in front of the camera, dressed up as witches and ghosts, inviting all the grown-up goblins in for a visit.

“Damn,” she muttered as she hit the switch, sending the screen to black.

She’d better hurry or it would be too late. Tonight was Halloween, Samhain to the ancient peoples and to the Faeries. The one night of the year when the separation between the world of man and the world of Faeries was most penetrable. She’d waited for over three months for this very night, and there was no way she was going to miss this chance! Less than an hour left before it was over and she’d have to wait for another whole year for this opportunity to return again.

She had time. It was why she’d insisted on coming home when she had.

The little bag of stones lay at the bottom of her dresser drawer along with a thin, white candle, wrapped in the soft green velvet scarf she’d bought especially for them. They’d cost her more than a week’s pay, but they were worth every penny. Or they would be, if they worked.

She shoved aside her small table and chair, clearing as much floor space as possible.

What she needed was a circle. Faeries loved circles.

One by one, she laid out her stones, reading from the strips of paper where she’d written their names and why she’d chosen them.

“Fairy quartz for heightened energy even while it
calms. Apophyllite, the fairy stone, to help in working with Faeries. Staurolite, to channel information from the ancients.”

She only hoped the ancient Fae were paying attention tonight.

“Amazonite for success and psychic abilities. Turquoise, for guidance through the unknown. Psilomelane, for scrying and out-of-body travel. Mica, to improve visions and mystical clarity. Jade, for dreams and realization of potential. Iolite, the shaman stone, to help with visions and spiritual growth. Chalcedony, the sacred Native American miracle stone. Clear quartz, a power stone to intensify the energy of my circle.”

She set the last one in place and stood back to admire her work. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it would have to do. The quartz she’d truly wanted, one the shop owner had called a Time Link crystal, had reached for the sky with four beautifully shaped points that were said to give insight into the future as well as aid in finding meaning in the past. It had been very large and so far out of her price range, she’d had to settle for this one, with a point on only one side. A link to the past, the salesclerk had claimed. Close enough.

Eleven stones.

The twelfth was in the ring she wore on her right hand, her birthstone, a garnet. Her most valued possession, it had been a gift from her aunt on her sixteenth birthday.

“For romantic love, for passion, for sensuality and intimacy,”
she quoted, holding her hand out in front of her.

After an evening like she’d just suffered through, heaven knew she could use a dash of all those in her life.

Eleven stones for the Fae, one for her. Even the Fae should see that ratio as more than fair.

She pushed her hair back over her shoulder, realizing as she did so that she was still wearing her ratty, oversize T-shirt.

That would never do for meeting the Faerie Queen. If she showed up.

“
When
she shows up,” she corrected herself. This was no time for doubting. “Not if. When. I meant to say when.”

Another glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes left.

What did she have that was pretty? Not that she could hope to be as beautiful as a Faerie, but still, she should dress for the occasion. There was that long, gauzy sundress she’d bought at a garage sale a few years back. The one with little flowers embroidered over the bodice. Part of the appeal of the dress was that it always reminded her of something that would have been worn in a different century.

It would be perfect.

She pulled the tee off even as she headed for her drawers. In minutes she’d found what she wanted, dropping the cream-colored cloud of material down over her head before lighting the candle she’d left on the foot of her bed. It felt right.

Ten minutes.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the center of the circle and held her candle aloft. Its flame glinted off the facets cut into the stone of her ring. She closed her eyes to eliminate the distraction and forced all errant thoughts from her mind even as she expelled the air from her lungs.

Concentrate.
The time had come.

“Your Highness?” She stumbled over the words, wondering at the last minute how she could possibly catch the Faerie Queen’s attention. “Fifteen years, Your Highness. I’ve given you fifteen years. Milk for the Faeries every single day, even when I ate nothing for my own dinner.” That sounded an awful lot like dramatic whining, not at all what she was going for. But she had been so patient for so long. Lord, but she was tired of waiting for them to notice her. Tired of just existing while she waited for whatever it was her life was intended to be to begin.