Moon Shadows (31 page)

His loyal man-at-arms caught a handful of Alana's hair, pulling her head back sharply before pressing a knife to her throat.

“Now we will see who wins,” Rothwick shouted. “If he harms me, kill the woman at once.”

Royce looked at the woman he loved and felt as if his heart would surely break. The death of this despised villain was within his grasp, but at too great a cost.

When his arm tightened around Rothwick's neck, the man gave a grunt of pain. “Release me now, or watch the woman die.”

When Royce hesitated, Rothwick shouted, “Slit the woman's throat.”

Before his man could obey, two shimmering warriors, wearing the distinctive green and blue and black plaid of the MacLish clan, stepped up behind Rothwick's warrior. In the blink of an eye, the man was clutching his own throat as he dropped to the floor.

Royce let out a cry. “Father! Fitzroy! Is it really you?”

“Aye, lad.” Ramsay MacLish draped his cloak around Alana's shoulders before striding forward, followed by his older son. Both men clapped their hands on Royce's shoulders. “You need have no fear of this evil creature ever again. His cruel reign is finished.”

Even as he spoke, more shimmering warriors filled the Great Hall. While the Highland lairds watched in stunned surprise, Rothwick's army was cut down before they could flee. Not a single soldier loyal to the tyrant was left standing.

“Kill me then,” Rothwick cried. “And be quick about it.”

At those words Royce tightened his grasp and thought about the pain and misery and loneliness he'd been forced to endure because of this man. One quick snap of bones and it would all be over.

“Do it,” Rothwick taunted. “Have your vengeance.”

“It is not vengeance I seek, but justice.” Royce released Rothwick and gave him a shove into the throng of Highlanders who had picked up his warriors' weapons. “Let us see if you will find justice among your fellow lairds.”

As Rothwick pushed and shoved and tried to escape, he was caught by a cluster of Highlanders who announced that he would face the justice of their council before all the people. As he was led from the Great Hall, there was another great rush of air, and the room was filled with men, women, and children. So many strangers, and all of them rushing about, embracing the tearful Highlanders, who called out the names of their loved ones.

Alana found herself in the arms of her own mother. When her father caught sight of them, he gave a great shout and rushed to embrace them both.

Royce's mother also appeared and he gathered her close, before turning to include his father and older brother.

His father's voice was muffled against his hair. “You have grown into a fine and noble warrior.”

“All that I have done with my life, was done to honor you.” Royce lovingly touched his father's cheek, before clasping a hand on his brother's shoulder. “To honor you both.”

“We are honored. And pleased.” His father smiled. “Your mother and I approve of the woman you have chosen. Of all Highland women, she is the one most worthy of you, for she has the heart of a true Highland warrior.”

Royce couldn't help laughing. “So I've learned. Come. I want you to meet her.” He walked closer to catch Alana's hand. “This is my father and mother and my brother, Fitzroy.”

Seeing Alana's look of puzzlement, he turned to find the place beside him empty.

She kissed his cheek. “No matter. Come and meet my mother. My father and I are so happy to have her back with us.”

She led him to where her father and mother stood. But in the blink of an eye, her father was alone.

“I don't understand.” Alana's voice was filled with sadness.

“Nor I,” said her father. “Our visit was all too brief.”

Just then little Meara danced toward them, holding the hand of a beautiful young woman. “Look,” she called with childish delight. “My mama has come back to tell me how much she loves me.”

While they watched, the woman's image began to shimmer and fade. By the time Ingram and Jeremy and Dudley had joined them, the woman was gone, and Meara was weeping.

Ingram picked her up and cradled her to his shoulder. “You found your voice.”

The little girl sniffed. “Mama told me I shouldn't be sad anymore. She said I would soon have a new home, and a life far better than anything I could have dreamed.”

Ingram nodded. “That's what my mother told me, too. I wonder what she meant by it.”

Before he could say more the great hall was filled with the sound of voices that began as a chant and soon became a roar.

“What are they saying?” Laird Lamont asked his daughter.

She listened for a minute longer before turning to Royce. “They are saying that they wish to swear their fealty to the new laird of lairds.”

He looked puzzled. “Do they not yet understand that Rothwick is dead?”

She merely smiled as the Highlanders began gathering around, lifting their swords over their heads and shouting Royce's name.

“It is you they want as their leader. Do you not see? This,” she added softly, “was why you lived, my laird. This was why you were born, and why your life was spared. To lead your people out of misery and into a new reign of peace.”

As he looked around at the smiling faces of the Highlanders, he drew her close. “I cannot accept such a responsibility unless you will agree to be my lady.” He brushed a kiss over her lips and murmured, “For this is truly why I was spared, my love. That you and I might reign together.”

Alana wondered that her poor heart didn't simply explode with happiness. Because the others were watching and listening, she merely whispered, “I will serve my laird in any way he desires.”

Their matching smiles were dazzling.

There was no time for words as the entire assembly knelt to offer their homage and their loyalty to the new laird of lairds and his beautiful lady.

While Royce watched, he saw a shimmer of light beside him and felt again the touch of his father's hand upon his shoulder. Just as quickly the light was gone, but the feeling of
peace remained, and Royce realized that this night, on the feast of All Hallows Eve, they had been given a truly marvelous gift. The dead had indeed, for one brief shining moment, been allowed to walk the earth and touch again those they had loved.

It was not something to be feared, but rather something that all hearts yearn for just as all hearts yearn for that one perfect love of a lifetime. In the space of a single moment, he had found both.

He'd thought his clan wiped out forever. Now he looked at the happy faces of his new family. Laird Lamont and his old man-at-arms, Lochaber, and his wife Brin. Women and children and lads-not-quite-men, who had risked all to stand together against a tyrant. His beloved Alana, who was smiling at him with her heart in her eyes.

He would spend whatever time he had left on this earth making them aware of just how much he loved them all.

For Ky,
Braveheart
and
Prince Among Men

Marianne Willman

T
HE
sky was black as the mouth of hell and a banshee wind raged out of the north. In isolated cottages, families huddled close to their hearths and to one another.

They heard thundering hooves in the gale's wicked blasts, sly laughter and silvery bells in its gusts and eddies: the gentry were abroad on their steeds of air and fire, and the atmosphere crackled with mischief.

Lights blazed from every window of the castle on the moor, although no mortal eye could see them. Inside the vast hall columns of gold and malachite held up a ceiling of deep lapis, and faerie lights glowed in lamps of hollowed pearls. Silk-clad dancers whirled across the marble floor to the sounds of harp and flute and silver bells.

When the music ended one woman slipped away and ran daintily up the stairs to the tower. She scanned the valley at the foot of the moor and spied a carriage coming up the old moor road. Lady Rowan's lips curved in a smile.

“Ah, she has come!”

If she had the capacity for it, Lady Rowan might have felt
sorry for the young woman inside the swaying vehicle. So young and fair. So much alone.

So unprepared for what was yet to come.

But in the Kingdom of Faerie youth was forever, there were merry companions, and death did not exist.

The carriage was almost at the crossroads. Lady Rowan's smile grew. She gestured and light flashed from her fingertips. A wild wind blasted across the countryside, snapping dried branches from the trees and ripping signposts from their moorings.

Lady Rowan turned away, mischief dancing in her slanting, leaf-brown eyes. “And now—let the merriment begin!”

A ramshackle hired carriage rattled along the old moor road, buffeted by spiteful winds. It hit a rough patch and the vehicle careened wildly. Inside Phoebe Sutton clung to the strap and prayed. Earlier her hopes had been to arrive there before nightfall.

Now she hoped they would arrive in one piece.

She was hours overdue to take up her post of housekeeper for Lord Thornwood, a distant relation of her late father.
By the pace of horses, the coachman is far more anxious to reach Thorne Court than I!

Certainly the wild Cornish countryside was no place for travelers on such an eerie night. The mad howling of the wind reminded Phoebe of every tale she'd ever read of lost travelers, pixie-led to their doom.

She leaned forward, intending to tell the driver to slow down, when the carriage lurched to an abrupt halt. Her bandboxes crashed to the floor. Thoughts of an injured horse or broken traces raced through her head. Phoebe opened the window and leaned out.

The rogue wind almost stole her bonnet. Invisible fingers teased the ribbons loose and ruffled her thick red hair. Phoebe clamped her hat down firmly.

“Coachman, why have we stopped?”

The grizzled driver leaned down from the box. “There be two tracks branching off from the road here, miss. Which of them to take is beyond my ken.”

“But . . . you said you
knew
the way!”

The man shrugged. “Aye. Gen'ally speaking. Come here once some years ago, I did. But look you, the signpost is gone! Likely blown clean away by this fiendish wind.”

On the heels of his words another great gust roared down the hills like a cavalry charge. The night was so wild, the atmosphere so disturbed that Phoebe imagined she could hear the faint jangle of harness and the drumbeat of phantom hooves, musical voices calling to her:

Come! Come with us, wild and free as the elements . . .

For a moment she was caught up by it, filled with a strange and overwhelming yearning. Then Phoebe shook off the strange fancy and concentrated on the diverging roads winding into the night like pale gray ribbons.

“Does nothing look familiar to you?”

“Not as I can say, miss. Might be I took the wrong turn earlier.”

Her heart sank. She'd been traveling for three days. She was cold, hungry and tired and it was clear the coachman wouldn't budge unless she directed him—and she hadn't a clue what to tell him.

She stared into the darkness beyond the glow of the carriage lamps, hoping to spot some sign of civilization. There was nothing at all to help her. The ancient moors huddled beneath their thick cloak of night, and phantom laughter echoed on the wind.

 

I
N
all the wild, black night, there was one place filled with light. The golden doors of the castle hidden in the hills were flung wide to welcome the glittering guests. Inside the ivory
hall, tapestries woven from cloth of gold shimmered with ever-shifting colors and scenes. Fine lords and ladies danced to the sound of pipes and harp, or sipped their wine from jeweled cups.

They were beautiful and graceful, seemingly the most favored of mortals. But closer examination showed the delicate, elongated fingers and dark slanting eyes of faeries, the softly pointed ears and golden skin of elves.

Only one figure stood alone in the gallery above the hall, the only mortal within the enchanted walls. Jack watched balls of green fire whizz about the room, barely missing the revelers. It was a common prank among the younger elves, whose tricks veered from lightly amusing to spiteful and sometimes cruel.

He grinned as one fireball came too close and singed the silver hair of a dignified elf. Quick as lightning, the victim caught the ball of fire in his hand. When he released it the fire was gone and a tiny bat trembled on his palm. It squeaked with dismay and flew up and out the window, banished from the feast. The elf restored his hair with a careless gesture and continued his conversation.

Jack laughed again, then suddenly sobered.
I am becoming more and more like them with every passing year.
Worse, he cared less and less that it was happening.
I am losing my humanity.

His beautiful surroundings were a prison for any mortal, like himself, foolish enough to trespass in the Kingdom of Faerie. There was a time when he'd been dazzled by the faerie glamour, the beautiful women so free with their favors, the endless merriment and mischief. But he'd grown weary of their reckless gaiety. He longed to return to the real, if imperfect world from which he came.

His dark head gleamed with fiery highlights as Jack raised his goblet and finished his wine. Staring into the empty silver bowl, he saw his eyes reflected back, blue as the sapphires rimming the cup.

His mouth twisted in a bitter smile.
A mirror of my existence,
he thought.
All splendor and emptiness.

Setting the goblet down, he watched a couple exchange a warm glance, then vanish into a dark alcove. Other lovers were drifting away from the ball as well.

A ball of gold light whizzed through the air and hovered beside him. “Leave me,” he said, not bothering to glance up. “I am no good company this evening.”

“A fit of sullens, Lord Jack?”

He recognized the dulcet tones and leapt to his feet with a bow. “Lady Rowan! I beg your pardon.”

“As well you should!”

The glowing gold light vanished and a beautiful woman materialized beside him. Twinkling stars and miniature suns ringed her white throat and dancing lights shone in the depths of her slanting, leaf-brown eyes.

“You spend far too much time brooding,” she said with a tilt of her head.

He gave her a brief smile. “Unless you have brought a spell of merriment to enchant me, I'm afraid there is no cure.”

She placed her dainty hand on his arm. “Alas, I have not. Love is what I prescribe to bring you out of the doldrums. It is the best magic of all. Find a fair lady and give your heart to her.”

“Love? I don't believe you know its meaning,” he said dryly, “so you will forgive me if I don't take advantage of your wisdom.”

Lady Rowan shook her head. “Stubborn creature! Well, I have other news that might interest you. A carriage is lost on the old road. The signpost is gone, and the coachman does not know which road to take.”

He shrugged. “That is his affair. It is none of mine.”

Her mouth curved in a smile. “I appeal to your chivalry. The passenger is a young lady of quality, orphaned and alone.”

His dark brows shot together. “That is her affair. It is none of mine.”

“Ah.” Rowan's voice was silken. “I held out the best part. Her name is Phoebe Sutton, and she has been invited to Thorne Court to take up her new life.”

Jack was clearly startled. “Has she now?” He looked away. “She would do best to avoid the place and seek her fate elsewhere.”

“Let us see what fortune has in store for her then.” Rowan made a graceful gesture and a crystal globe appeared resting on her outstretched palms.

“Should she go east, the carriage will lose a wheel. She will be severely injured and lose her senses.”

Jack gazed into the globe. The sparkling mist cleared and a scene appeared. A small, barren room, the slight form of a young woman on the bed, her hair a tangled mass of copper, her dark-fringed eyes blue and empty as a summer sky.

Jack felt a swift stab of pity. “So young and so lovely . . .”

“Yes. And so alone.” Rowan shook her head. “Why, if she disappeared, no one would miss her. Surely that must strike a chord with you, Lord Jack?”

“We all have choices to make,” he said frowning. “She should choose the center road then and go north.”

“Should she go north,” Rowan said, turning the globe, “the carriage will overturn into a ravine . . .”

Jack watched the scene form: the same girl tumbling from the broken carriage, pinwheeling down onto the rocks. She lay on her side, eyes closed and her hair fanning out like flames beneath the brim of her worn bonnet.

“And,” Rowan went on, “she will be killed instantly.”

He glared. “Are you saying that her fate is in
my
hands? What guilt you lay upon me!”

“I will repeat your own words back to you,” Rowan said. “ ‘We all have choices to make.' ”

Jack wrestled with his conscience. In the end, he had to know: “And if I choose to come to her aid? What is her fortune, then?”

Lady Rowan vanished the globe with a gesture. “That is not for you to know, for once you choose to interfere, your fate is tied to hers.”

She winked, kissed Jack's cheek and whirled away in her iridescent silks. A moment later she was just a spangle of bright sparks soaring far above the dancers.

He stood frowning after her. Could he trust that what she'd shown him was real? True, she had befriended him since his arrival, and his current situation would be far worse if she hadn't championed him.

Still, she was a faerie. Mischief and meddling were born and bred in her.

This could be another elaborate jest, with myself as the butt of it.

Yet, what if what she'd shown him
was
true? He pictured the girl with the lustrous red hair as he'd seen her in the magic globe and felt a sudden pang.

At least I am still human enough to pity her.

That surprised him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt any emotions other than boredom or anger. How long had it been since he'd left the shelter of the castle to venture out in the mundane world that had once been his home? Time had no meaning here and days ran into weeks all too easily . . .

But sometimes going back was too painful: it made him realize all he had lost through his youthful recklessness.

Still, the fading memory of the moors by starshine, of rich earth warming beneath the pale spring sun, tempted him.

Striding to the back of the gallery, Jack unlatched the latticed window. Jewels imbedded in the glass winked with colored lights as he threw it wide.

A powerful wind blew in, tugging at his thick hair and bringing tantalizing scents of wet earth, of tender seedlings ready to spring out of the dark, fertile ground and into new green life.

There was nothing in all Faerieland to compare with it. A fierce longing for the mortal world swept through him, far more violent than the windstorm that roared down over hill and vale.

Waves of emotion battered at him, and Jack fisted his hands. He felt in that moment that he would do anything to break the spell binding him to the Kingdom of Faerie.
Anything
to regain his freedom.

And so he made his choice.

Jack drew on the one power granted him. For a single second the air in the gallery burned bright blue. Then a flickering, gold flame launched itself out the window, riding the storm down to the dark valley floor.