Moon Shadows (38 page)

P
HOEBE
went up to Lady Gwynn's room. The door was unlocked and the dowager was propped up in a chair before an easel, painting by the light of an oil lamp. “Come in, child. I've been waiting for you. Did you like the new paintings in the drawing room?”

“Who painted them?” Phoebe asked. “Was it you?”

“Oh, no. My style is quite different.” She waved a hand at the canvases that now faced forward into the room. There were only three subjects, shown in every possible season and quality of light: Thorne Court, the Faerie Stables, and the castle on the hill.

They were the works of a genius. A mad genius. But there was no likeness at all to the works that Gordon had destroyed.

“Then where did they come from?” Phoebe demanded.

“A clue for you, my dear, from Lady Rowan. And a reminder to Lord Jack. He has so little time left.”

A chill wrapped itself around Phoebe's heart. “Lord Jack? Who do you mean?”

“Why, Gordon, of course. Lady Rowan gives mortals
nicknames. She calls him Lord Jack because he fell down the hill. And when you are taken away to live with the faeries, your name will be Lady Jill.”

A shiver ran up Phoebe's spine. “I have no intention of letting anyone take me away from Thorne Court.” She stood beside the older woman's chair. “You know what happened to him.”

“And much more . . .”

“Do you know if there is any way to break the spell?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Gwynn said. “She gave him seven years to find someone to take his place. But Gordon refused.” Lady Gwynn shook her head. “He has always been stubborn, like all the Thornes.”

“He wants to send me away,” Phoebe told her.

“It would be wise of you to go.”

Lady Gwynn suddenly lost interest in their conversation. She ignored Phoebe, picked up a paintbrush and began daubing at a half-finished canvas. Phoebe saw she'd get nothing more from Gordon's aunt at the moment. She slipped away to her own room to finish hunting through her father's manuscript.

Elsie was waiting there for her and wouldn't leave until Phoebe was undressed and her hair brushed out. The moment she was gone Phoebe set to her task. There had to be a way to free Gordon.

She scanned the handwritten pages until her eyelids drooped and the candle sputtered out.

Phoebe dreamed . . .

She was back in the faerie garden, in the perfumed air of a summer night. Crickets sang and lights glimmered along a curving path, leading down to a moonlit lake. She floated along it in her gossamer gown, her heart filled with joy and longing.

She came to a rose bower hung with silk and slipped inside. The air was fragrant with the spicy scent of damask roses. She smiled when she saw her lover waiting there.

“Beloved!” he said and pulled her into his arms. His scent, his voice, the hard muscles and planes of his lean
body were all as familiar to her as her own. This was where she belonged, wrapped tight in his embrace.

His mouth skimmed hers and her heart fluttered in response. He took the kiss deeper and she swayed against him. The heat of passion blazed between them. She burned with desire, her body melting against his like molten metal.

He swung her off her feet and lowered her to the sumptuous cushions, covering her face with kisses. “Gordon . . .” she breathed, and touched his ruined face with infinite tenderness. “Foolish Gordon. How could you think I wouldn't love you? I fell in love with you the moment I first set eyes on you. And I will never stop loving you.”

His mouth claimed hers again, this time with mounting hunger. His hands caressed her skin. He pressed his lips at the hollow of her throat, over the soft swell of her breasts. She had never felt so joyous and alive. So loved.

His hands moved slowly, sensuously down her body and she arched against him with need.

“Make love to me, Gordon,” she said softly. Urgently. She struggled against the constricting clothes that kept their bodies separate.

“All in good time,” he whispered. He took the blood-red rose from her hair and trailed the velvet petals along her jaw, down the elegant curve of her throat. Her breath sighed out in pure pleasure. The fabric parted and she felt the rose brush the tip of her breast. Heat poured through her and her limbs grew heavy with languor. She floated on a wave of intense pleasure that deepened as his mouth moved down and claimed his prize.

He was a skilled lover, drawing her deeper into his sensual web. Teasing and caressing, his hands gliding down her body until she was wild for more. But something was wrong. Something was missing. Even as his lips skimmed her body and his hands worked their magic, she was aware of it. She wanted him. Him!

She wanted more than his passion, she wanted his love.

He looked down at her sadly, as if reading her thoughts. “No,” he said. “No!”

She felt a sharp pain in her breast. The rose had a
hidden thorn, and a red scratch followed the soft curve of her breast.

As a drop of blood welled up, the bower dissolved . . .

Phoebe found herself back in her bedchamber tangled in the sheets, her blood roaring in her ears and her arms achingly empty.

She cried out in frustration. It had seemed so real! She could still feel the warmth of his hands upon her skin, the weight of his body against hers.

Her sense of loss was deep and shattering. Phoebe sat up and lit the candle on her nightstand. She gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. The coverlet was splashed with drops of blood!

She touched them and her heart thudded against her ribs.

The spots weren't stains of blood at all, but a scattering of scarlet petals.

 

I
N
the opposite wing of the house Gordon awakened to find his arms empty and a scarlet rose stretched across his linen sheet. He cursed and flung it away.

This was magic at work.
More of Rowan's doing,
he said. Cursing, he rose from the bed. Up till now he'd fought for every remaining minute in his own world. Only the pain had ever driven him to seek respite in the Kingdom of Faerie. But now there was not only himself to consider, there was Phoebe.

He buried his face in his hands. Phoebe's flowery scent still lingerd on them.

“Damn you, Rowan! Damn you and your fiendish schemes. I won't let you draw her into them.”

P
HOEBE
hesitated in the darkness outside Gordon's room. The seductive dream, she was sure, had been sent by Lady Rowan.
But why?

There was a light on in Gordon's room. She tapped on the panel and waited for his response.

“Enter.”

Phoebe opened the door and slipped inside. Gordon stood at the window in his dressing gown.

He looked up in surprise. “Phoebe! I thought you were Holloway.” He took in her disheveled hair and nightgown. “What the devil does this mean? You have no business here.”

“Oh, but I do. Unfinished business.”

He came toward her and she opened her hand and let the petals fall around her bare feet. For a moment they were frozen in time, then he pulled her into his arms and crushed her against his chest. He put her away from him gently.

“Phoebe, darling, you don't know what you're doing.”

“I do. I love you, Gordon. Don't turn your heart away from me again.”

“I never have.” But his face became stern again. Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her roughly. “Go back to your room, Phoebe, for the love of God.”

She raised her chin. “I'm not a child, to be dismissed!”

His smile was rueful. “No, you are not. And that is the problem.”

She stepped forward and wound her arms around his neck. “Make love to me, Gordon.”

He wavered, then swept her into his arms once more. She sighed and lost herself in his embrace. The passion that had been denied so long burst into flame, consuming every other thought. Wildfire burned through his veins, ignited in hers. She opened her mouth to his kiss, gasped at the touch of his hand upon her breast, the sudden flood of sensation that swept everything else away.

His hands moved down to her waist, smoothed the light fabric of her gown over the soft swell of her hips. She moaned against him, moved instinctively to curve her body into his. He groaned and swept her up into his arms. He was incredibly skilled, incredibly tender, and she was as responsive to him as she'd been in his dreams. The heat built up, feeding their desire until it burned white and hot inside them.

She wasn't prepared for the suddenness, the fierce bright glory of it. And as she shuddered and surrendered to it, she heard him call out her name.

They kissed afterward, then made love until they were sated. Phoebe's heart was overflowing with happiness. She drifted off to sleep with her head on his shoulder. Everything would be all right now.

 

P
HOEBE
awakened to find Gordon standing over her. He was dressed for riding and his face was filled with anguish.

“What is it?” she asked, sitting up. “What's wrong?”

He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. “Good-bye, Phoebe. God keep you safe.”

“But Gordon! Where are you going?”

He didn't reply. She stood in the doorway listening to the
sound of his booted feet as he descended the staircase. Then she ran back to her bedchamber and dressed for riding.

If I'm quick, I can reach the stable ahead of Gordon. His lameness will slow him down.

The side door was latched but she slid the latch open and went out into the bright moonlight. The wind was cool and fragrant with the scent of the damp green promises of spring. She heard Gordon's voice.

“Is the chestnut saddled and ready, Hugh?”

“Aye. Saw the signal from your window, milord. Here's yer lantern.”

“I don't need one. The moon is bright and I know every cursed inch of the way.”

“Be sensible now, Master Gordon. Wouldn't want ye to take a tumble and break yer head.”

“It might be better if I did,” Gordon answered.

“Never say that! God speed to ye, sir, and bring ye safely home.”

Gordon didn't reply.

A moment later a wooden gate creaked open and Phoebe watched Gordon ride through. He rode sedately until he was well away from the house. Then he urged the bay forward and cantered off in the moonlight.

Phoebe felt a cold certainty that he wasn't coming back ever again.

She slipped inside the stable while Hugh lit his pipe.

She had Daisy saddled and bridled before Hugh knew she was back in the stalls. She stood on a bench and swung herself up into the saddle just as he came around the corner.

“What the dickens! Miss Sutton, what are you doing?”

“I've no time to explain,” she told him. “Do not try to stop me, as you love your master!”

While the old man stared at her, wide-mouthed, she kicked her heels. The mare raced over the cobbles, her iron shoes sending sparks from the stones.

The moon was so bright there was no need of a lantern. She rode as she had never done before, narrowly missing a foxhole in her mad dash. She had seen Gordon nearing the northern boundary of the parkland. Phoebe prayed the wind
and the sound of his own horse's hooves would obscure the sound of the mare's pounding feet as they raced across the turf.

She saw his mount picketed ahead.

The horse whickered softly and tossed its head. Phoebe patted its neck and went along the path as quickly and silently as possible. When she reached the end of the woods she finally saw Gordon. He was near the stone marker at the edge of his property, heading toward the moor and the dolmen.

There was a flash of intense green light and Gordon vanished into thin air. While she stood stunned and staring, a tiny ball of golden light formed where he'd been. It zig-zagged swiftly up the steep hill to the Faerie Stables and then it, too, vanished into the night.

Phoebe reached up and removed the talisman necklace her father had given her. Suddenly the dark hill was ablaze with light. There was the faerie castle blazing where the dolmen had been, shining and glorious, dimming the moon and stars.

As real as she was.

With her pulses pounding, she walked into the shadows of the dolmen and left the mortal world behind.