Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (16 page)

Still, Lurien knew it would be a mistake to assume they were any less deadly on land. He kept a watchful eye on the creatures, as he did all of the envoys in attendance. On the first day, only a well-timed snap of his light whip had prevented a pair of coblynau from being bitten in half by an ill-tempered basilisk. Since then, all the battles in the great garden courtyard had been waged with words alone—but that could change in an instant.

“The magic is ancient,” said Gwenhidw. “But it exists. For the sake of our peoples, we must not be afraid to try what is new only to us.” Though enormous in scope, her plan was simple enough in concept. The ways were the portals between dimensions. They linked places within the realms, connected the fae kingdom with the mortal plane, and even bridged the continents. If the Great Way leading to Tir Hardd were successfully made larger, the territory could be seeded with enormous
samplau—
bits and pieces of every environment from every corner of the Nine Realms. Infused with fresh energy from the new land, the samplau would flourish and expand until the kingdom was replicated, and every fae creature had what it needed to thrive in their new home.

The seventy-nine envoys had been deadlocked over this issue for days and nights on end. It rubbed Lurien’s patience raw at times, but then, he was a hunter, not a diplomat. He would utilize any weapon to defend his queen, but he did not command words the way he controlled magic. Fortunately, no one was more masterful than Gwenhidw herself at tact and discretion. Her insightful negotiations were pointed and shrewd, yet their true effectiveness lay in the fact that she genuinely cared about each and every one of her subjects.

Including, apparently, the Draigddynion.

The Lord of the Wild Hunt still hadn’t forgiven the queen for deceiving him. She’d known he’d never agree to let the dragon men into the castle, not after they’d slain the king and tried to kill her all those years ago. Not after the recurring participation of the Draigddynion in the many conspiracies that had plagued the Nine Realms ever since. Even as he seethed, however, he couldn’t help but admire the clever trick Gwenhidw had played on him, and the sheer brilliance of her direct invitation to the new ruler of the dragon territories.

Even as he thought about her, Aurddolen’s amber gaze fastened upon him for a moment. Then she strode boldly to stand in the midst of the bickering delegates. “Peoples of the Nine Realms, hear me now. The Great Way
can
be enlarged. Her Grace is correct—the spells required are old, older than the realms themselves, but they exist. As a member of the royal house of Draigddynion, I too have knowledge of these spells, and the ability to use them,” she declared. “But as the queen has pointed out many times, such a massive undertaking will require every one of us to work together. I myself stand before you as a testament of our ability to put aside our differences for the greater good and to act as one.”

He fully expected the room to erupt into argument as usual, to noisily end in yet another stalemate. But this time something was different. There was a thoughtful silence . . . and it was rapidly followed by a clapping and thrumming that swelled until it bounced off the walls of the courtyard. It would seem that at long last, they had reached an accord. The queen’s bold plan would go forward.

The next time Aurddolen looked his way, Lurien inclined his head.

Caris already knew where she wanted,
needed
, to go. A stand of trees grew at the base of the ridge nearest the farm, and the high hillside at their back had sheltered them from the storm’s violence. Even from the house she could see the high inward curve of gray rock above the treetops—and instinct told her that her music would flow through the space and fold back on itself, a tidy circling of sound. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen her favored spot on the mountainside above her father’s farm, all those years ago.

Caught up in memories, she had crossed both the farmyard and the field east of the barn before she knew it. Stepping from the plowed earth and into the thick brush was a little scary. Ranyon had said the anghenfil was gone, and no one expected the outlaw hunt to return, not yet. Still, her heart beat faster with trepidation, as much as excitement. Alert for any sign of danger, she saw no peculiar shadows, heard no strange horns. There was only a thick grouping of trees gathered around rocks and fallen logs, leaning over a small stream like women visiting over the stalls of vegetables on market day. A few bursts of tiny yellow flowers dotted the area like sunshine dappling the ground. It felt good here, friendly, and
clean
, like the clean magic the ellyll had spoken of.

A tall mossy rock, long ago fallen from the hillside above, made a fine table. One-handed, she pulled the quilt from her shoulders and spread it over the stone before she relinquished the precious leather case from her grasp. She freed the bow from its clever little drawer, then unclasped the main compartment. Her breath caught as she viewed the exquisite fiddle in the early morning light. “Come here,
fy un hardd
, my beautiful one,” she crooned.

The instrument was familiar and yet strange, as she worked patiently to bring it into tune. “We have to get acquainted, you and I,” she said, and drew a long experimental note with the bow, then another—and another. The sound seemed to fill the forest around her, and just as she’d hoped, the hill sang it back to her, full and rich. That was the moment she stopped being afraid. Afraid she’d forgotten how to play, afraid that it wouldn’t be the same, that somehow, her music—and with it,
who she truly was
—wouldn’t come back.

All her fears fell away from her, time fell away, the world itself fell away, as she began to play . . .

FOURTEEN

T
he song . . . The song in the woods . . . The song pushed at him hard, rattled long-locked doors, pulled at latches, yanked open drawers and flung aside shutters . . . The song and the storm were one, and evil itself was coming, something dark and monstrous on feet that didn’t touch the ground . . .

Liam’s eyelids snapped open, but it took several seconds for him to realize he was lying on the living room couch. His own living room and his own couch, yet the familiar surroundings didn’t reassure him at all. Nothing was comforting in the wake of such a nightmare—and even the beautiful part that had preceded it had shaken him to his very core. For a long moment, he remained motionless, alert and listening, but heard nothing. He relaxed a fraction, but part of him continued to be on guard.

It didn’t help that the sun was in the wrong place. It should be late afternoon, maybe dusk at most. Yet there was a glowing pinkish orb just above the horizon, framed by the east-facing window. The good thing was that the light wasn’t yet bright enough to stab Liam’s eyeballs. The bad thing, that he didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember anything before the dream-turned-nightmare in fact, except the upchucking part.

Great way to make an impression on a pretty woman.

Small wonder Caris Dillwyn was nowhere to be seen. But then, he couldn’t see very much from his vantage point, and he wasn’t about to make the mistake of sitting up just yet. Just the act of moving his eyes reminded him sharply of why he was sacked out like a drunk on the couch, although the throbbing headache was like no hangover he’d ever had in his entire life.

Maybe I’m not really awake.
Obviously there hadn’t been time to look around when he came home from the hospital. But the
last
time Liam had been in his living room, the better part of a chestnut tree had speared the wall right where Brewster the Mooster used to hang. The tree was gone now, and a sheet of plastic-wrapped plywood was fastened neatly over the area. He didn’t know how his friends had managed to look after that so quickly, but he could accept that it was possible. As for the rest of the room? It was definitely causing him to question his state of consciousness.

Like many old houses with high ceilings, the windows were tall and narrow. The living room boasted six single-hung sashes, and every one had been destroyed. He’d heard them break during the storm, and he’d witnessed their remains the next morning. Yet now, the panes were not just intact but gleaming—which was a miracle all by itself, since he knew for a fact that they hadn’t been cleaned once since Aunt Ruby lived here. He was no slob, but hey,
windows
.

Further study revealed no visible glass shards littering the floor. There were no leaves on the rug. The curtains weren’t wet, dirty, or shredded.
What the hell?

Slowly Liam turned his head to see more, and there was old Brewster, present and accounted for. The ancient moose head was propped up in a far corner and looked none the worse for wear—well, at least no more moth-eaten than usual. Someone had even glued his glass eye back in.
And nothing else was out of place.
Books and knickknacks were back on the shelves, pictures were back on the walls. If it weren’t for the plywood patch, Liam might have concluded that either he was still asleep, dead, or had imagined everything he had seen during and after the storm.

Maybe he’d been out a lot longer than he thought. Christ, maybe even
days
. There was just no other way for his house to be back together—unless it had never been wrecked in the first place. Was that part of the damn nightmare? Maybe he’d simply dreamed that he’d awakened in the first place.
Maybe, maybe, maybe
. . .

No, dammit! I was in the hospital the first time I had that dream, I’m sure of it. And what about Brewster? The old moose didn’t just jump off the wall by himself.
And then there was Caris, of course. No matter what had happened to him, he sure as hell hadn’t made up that gorgeous, dark-haired woman. His imagination definitely wasn’t
that
good.

Liam put a hand to his aching head as if he could physically stop his chaotic thoughts. He couldn’t feel more disoriented if he’d just stepped off a roller coaster. He never expected to have to question what was real and what wasn’t, but in the middle of all the confusion, he was strangely certain of one thing—and his gut was certain of it too: his dreams were trying to get a message to him . . . Come to think of it, so was his damn bladder. Time to see if he could survive a trip to the bathroom. Slowly, gingerly, he eased himself up into a sitting position.

“Hey, welcome back!” The new voice belonged to Morgan. “Thank goodness we caught you before you face-planted on the carpet last night. Not trying to do it again, are you?”

“Morning to you, too,” he said as she came into view and sat on the coffee table in front of him.

“Took three of us to get you back onto the couch, bud. You’re totally
dead weight
when you’re unconscious. Remind me never to go drinking with you—I’d hate to have to carry you home.” She stood and put out both her hands. “Let me just steady you while you get vertical, okay?”

The natural fallback response of all males is “I don’t need any help,” but this time, common sense just laughed at that notion. “Sure, thanks,” he managed.

A moment later he was standing on his own—and he was sweating by the time the dizziness cleared and his stomach climbed back down where it belonged. Whether Liam liked it or not, he had to admit that the damn concussion had kicked his ass and handed it to him.

“What do you think?” asked Morgan. “Stay up, or sit back down?”

“Up.” He took an experimental step. “I’m okay.” And he was, more or less. It was a long, slow trip to the bathroom even though it was close by, but he managed it. Morgan hovered as a precaution and waited outside the door in case he got dizzy again, but she needn’t have bothered. He felt completely lousy, but he was elated to be mobile.

Liam surveyed his reflection—it was worse than at the hospital, the bruising more extensive and much more colorful this morning. His brow was swollen and his left eye was puffy, as if he’d been in a fight.
Hope I won.
He took the opportunity to lean on the counter, where he could brush his teeth, then drink a boatload of water.

Outside the door, he waved away Morgan’s help—although the couch looked further away than he remembered it. “I can’t believe you guys stayed the night,” he said, striving to distract both himself and his friend. “That’s some dedication.”

She shrugged and followed him. “Veterinarians pull night shifts more often than you think. Like during calving season. So it’s not that big a deal. Besides, nobody felt like driving home by the time we finished up.”

Just a few more feet to go . . .
Liam could feel his energy flagging fast. “Rhys is going to kick my ass for keeping you.”

“Naw, he’s still in California with the horses till Friday or Saturday. He wanted to get them settled into their new home before he left, make sure they were working well for the buyer.”

He immediately thought of his own horses. “Did anyone find Chevy?”
Three more steps, two more steps.

“We sure did.” Morgan caught Liam’s arm to slow his descent to the couch. “Your sensible mare came home on her own late last night. We found her standing by the backdoor steps, waiting for someone to come out.”

“Thanks.” He sank into the cushions with enormous relief. “She’s all right?”

Morgan nodded.
“
‘Right as rain,’ as Caris says it. Maybe when you’re up to it later today, you can come out and see her.”

Liam closed his eyes and was just plain
thankful
for a long moment. It was an incredible piece of luck that both horses had come through the storm unscathed. He eyed the tall vet then. “The cattle?”

“Most of them made it. I’ll let Jay tell you. Which reminds me, the power was on for a while this morning but it’s off again. I’m afraid it’s going to be like that for a few days, but Jay finally got your generator up and running late yesterday. Caris did the milking by hand last night, but we were able to put it in the cooler right away. Once the goats are milked this morning, Jay’s going to run the whole batch through the pasteurizer for you. Oh, I found the number for your cheese maker too, and let him know what’s going on . . .”

Although she kept talking, Liam had stopped listening the moment he heard Caris’s name.
She did all the milking? By frickin’ hand?
Forty does was no small feat for one person. Even Aunt Ruby in her younger days, before they could afford the luxury of milking machines, would have found it a challenge. He knew that his own hands, as accustomed to hard work as they were, would still be cramped and sore this morning if he’d milked the whole herd the old-fashioned way.

Morgan had mentioned on the phone that Caris was actually willing to stay and help Liam out on the farm for a few days. There was no denying that the timing was perfect. He’d heard plenty of storm stories at the hospital, and he knew his farm was just one of many places that had suffered damage. The demand for extra hands and equipment would be huge right now, and most would already be spoken for . . .

Yet Fate had somehow seen fit to deliver this unusual and remarkable woman to his very doorstep. Someone had once said, “There are no coincidences,” and Liam turned that over in his mind. Any able-bodied person would have been welcome in his particular situation. But Caris, as capable as she was, was no mere hired hand. He wasn’t stupid: maybe the help he really needed didn’t have a damn thing to do with the farm. But he was so frickin’ out of practice it wasn’t funny.
When was the last time I actually talked to a woman I didn’t already know?

He interrupted whatever Morgan was saying. “Look, I’m not used to having a woman around, you know? I don’t know how to make this situation work.”

“Liam, you’re not used to having
anybody
around anymore,” she said. “But you don’t have the luxury of being choosy. Jay and I both have to go home eventually. And you aren’t in any shape to look after things alone, especially with the power being unreliable.”

“I get that. I do. I’m not being choosy, honest, but I’ve still got a problem.”

“Look, bud, right now all your problems are solved for a while. Besides, you’ve got a big house, so you’d hardly have to see her.”

Liam knew it wouldn’t help if he owned a fifty-room mansion. He’d done nothing but think about Caris Dillwyn every waking minute when he was nowhere near her. Dreamed about her when he slept, too. Even as he napped in the goddamn cab on the way home, she was in his mind.

Morgan was still talking. “I know you care about your animals, and Caris is downright gifted with them. I’ve even offered her a job at the clinic, that’s how convinced I am of her competence. I’m vouching for her. Jay is vouching for her. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone like her?”

“Yes, the lovely Caris is intelligent, competent, great with animals, a hard worker, and probably sews clothes for orphans in her spare time. I agree with you, okay? But I’m trying to say that she’s more than that. She’s something incredible and—and
rare
—and I don’t even know how I know, but I do,” he said. His voice was louder than he wanted it to be, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “I totally agree that I’m goddamn lucky to have her help. But I’ve done nothing but make a lousy impression on her so far. I don’t know what to do or how to act, and now you’re making that poor woman
live
with me?” He sounded angry, even to himself. “Shit, I’m sorry, Morgan. See? See what I mean?”

“It’s probably just the concussion,” she said gently.

“I’m not so sure of that. You know I’m used to being alone—in fact, I’m pretty sure you called me a ‘Howard Hughes wannabe’ the last time you were here.”

“Hey, there’s no tissue boxes on your feet yet, so there’s still hope,” she grinned.

“Thanks—I think . . . But do you get what I’m saying? You’re not doing poor Caris any favors by leaving her here. I mean, I’ll pay her well, no question, but—”

“But you
like
her. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”

After a long moment, he finally nodded. There was no point pretending differently—at least not with Morgan. One of the things he’d always liked about her was her directness.

“You,” she said firmly, “are simply going to treat Caris with the utmost kindness and respect. And some honesty never hurts either. She’s been through a lot that you don’t know about, but she’s not fragile. Give her a chance. Give
yourself
a chance.”

“About that stuff she’s been through—she’s said some really weird things, you know.”

“And all
I’m
going to say is that you don’t need to worry about her. She’s not a serial killer, or a con artist, or even a goat rustler. She’s just Caris. In fact, if you really want to get along with her, you could try being yourself.”