One Enchanted Evening (2 page)

He had good reason to. He had, over the past ten-and-seven years of his life, seen things of a most mysterious and faerylike nature that no lad with any sense at all could possibly have dismissed as a trick of light or the aftereffects of too much wine at supper.

Indeed, hadn’t he as recently as the past spring seen his sister-in-law Jennifer spring up from the grass to bring her lovely and magical self to delight them all with her music and her beauty? Hadn’t he been standing not fifty paces away from his current location when he’d seen his brother-in-law Jackson stride from the bejeweled courts below, as if he’d simply walked through a gate that no mortal eyes could see?

He had supposed that at some point in the distant future he might be able to discount what he’d seen and perhaps learn to ignore the things about his siblings-in-law that puzzled him.

That day, he imagined, wouldn’t be today.

He stood still, as still as if he’d been frozen there, on a spot near his father’s keep, looking at something shimmering in the air in front of him.

The ground was nothing out of the ordinary. It was the last of the summer grasses, likely rather tasty to whatever animals were allowed to graze there, but in all other aspects quite unremarkable. If he’d walked over the spot another day, he wouldn’t have marked it at all.

Today, however, things were different. Not only did the grass bear the sheen of something magical, the air was full of a strange and marvelous light that had nothing at all to do with the sun that had risen but an hour before. He would have suspected he was dreaming, but he had enough wit left to know he wasn’t.

He knew one other thing as well.

He was looking at a faery.

There was no denying it. She had simply appeared, standing not twenty paces away from him, staring off into the distance as if she saw things he couldn’t. Her clothing he dismissed immediately. It was very fine but unremarkable. What held his attention was the fairness of her visage and the marvelous cascade of dark curls that fell over her shoulders like a tumbling waterfall.

Well, that and her wings.

They were a gossamer bit of business that shimmered and fluttered as she breathed in and out. He knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t manage anything else. He had never in his life seen anything so lovely, so wistful, so full of things he could not name but knew he was very interested in discovering. Aye, now,
there
was a gel worth snatching from the greedy clutches of the Faery Queen.

The air began to tremble, as if the gates to the netherworld had sensed his intention and were determined to thwart him before he could stop them. He started forward to take hold of the faery, but before he could touch her, he was jerked backward, almost off his feet. He spun around, curses halfway out of his mouth, to find his eldest brother standing there wearing an expression of the utmost gravity.

“Don’t,” Robin said quietly.

“Are you mad?” Montgomery demanded, trying to pull his arm free. “Let me go.”

“Do not step on that patch of ground, Montgomery.”

He had every intention of doing just that, but he had other business to see to first. He stepped away from his brother and drew his sword, fully prepared to teach his brother not to meddle in affairs that were not his.

He was surprised enough to see Robin
not
do the same that he lowered the blade. Robin was never one to back away from a fight, especially one he could have fought whilst half asleep. That he merely stood there with his hands down by his sides and an expression of gravity on his face that bespoke truly dire things was remarkable enough that Montgomery resheathed his blade before he thought better of it.

“What are you talking about?” Montgomery asked.

Robin paused, considered, then dug his heels in and said nothing. Montgomery cursed his brother silently—no sense in provoking him unnecessarily—he then turned back around to get back to the business of capturing—er, rescuing, rather—the lass who had appeared in front of him as if from a dream.

Only to find her, and the magic that had accompanied her, gone.

Montgomery knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he found himself gaping just the same. Unfortunately, all the protesting he could muster wasn’t going to change the fact that the ground before him was now nothing more than what it should have been. The sparkling air that had hovered over it had dissipated. Of the beauty he’d seen, there was no sign.

Obviously, Faery had reclaimed her own.

He shivered in spite of himself.

“Montgomery, let us return home.”

Montgomery took a moment to suppress the urge to run his brother through for interrupting what he was quite certain had been a singular opportunity to have a Faery for himself, unclenched his hands lest he be overly tempted to use them instead of his sword to teach his brother manners, then took a deep breath. Obviously, Robin knew more than he was letting on. The least he could do was divulge a few of those secrets. Montgomery turned around and looked at his brother.

“What lies there in that spot?”

“Nothing,” Robin said with a shrug.

“Robin, I am no longer a child.”

“I never said you were.” He nodded toward the keep. “Let’s be off. There are surely things enough inside to hold our interest.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I’m not,” Robin agreed seriously. “I have nothing at all to do with that spot of ground, so on its particulars I will remain prudently silent.”

“Should I ask—?”

“Cease,” Robin interrupted sharply. He chewed on his words for a moment or two, then shook his head, as if he found the thought of uttering them unpalatable. He slung his arm around Montgomery’s shoulders. “I am not the one to be asking, brother, and if you want my advice, you’ll not look for others to pose your questions to. Bide your time and keep your mouth shut.” He nodded knowingly. “ ’Tis what a virtuous knight would do.”

Montgomery started to protest, then reconsidered. The truth was, what he wanted more than anything was to be a virtuous knight, the sort of lad who would meet with the approval of not only his father but his four elder brothers. No matter the difficulty of the task set before him.

He supposed he might spend a moment or two now and again regretting that.

“Let’s go train,” Robin suggested. “That will occupy our morning quite well, don’t you think?”

Montgomery nodded, for the second thing he wanted, after being considered the sort of honorable knight his father would admire, was to be the same sort of swordsman his eldest brothers were. If Robin was willing to indulge him now in the lists, he wasn’t going to refuse.

“In fact,” Robin added, “I think you might be worth my full attention and scrutiny for the next few months. Especially if you can keep your mouth shut about things I’m certain you didn’t just see. What think you?”

Montgomery stifled the urge to drop to his knees and kiss Robin’s dung-encrusted boots. Robin was notoriously choosey about the lads he trained, so to be thus singled out was indeed an honor worthy of a bit of discretion.

Though he couldn’t help one final foray into things likely better left alone. That gel with the long, trailing mass of relentlessly curling dark hair and the wings . . . if he could just have even a fraction of an answer, simply to put his mind at rest about her. He took a deep breath, then looked at his brother.

“Was she a faery, do you think?”

Robin slapped the back of Montgomery’s head sharply—no doubt in an attempt to dislodge good sense—then hesitated before he put his hands on Montgomery’s shoulders. “I do not know what she was, or if you even saw what you think you saw,” he said in a low voice, “but I can well imagine what happens to souls who consort with things not of this world.”

“Like Jake and Jennifer—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about there,” Robin said promptly. “What I do know is that faeries are for children, not for grown men.”

“I know what I saw—”

“Then forget it quickly,” Robin advised, “and instead think on what it would mean for you if it were noised about that you still believed in things better left to find home in children’s tales.” He slid Montgomery a sideways look. “Really, Montgomery. Faeries? At your age? Better that you concentrate on things that will keep you alive.” He patted his sword. “Steel and cunning. We’ll consider both at length over the next pair of months.”

Montgomery nodded reluctantly, and then continued on for a handful of steps before the temptation to look over his shoulder became too great to ignore. He paused, then looked back at that particular spot in the grass that was now nothing out of the ordinary until he’d come to a decision. He hated to admit it, but Robin was right. He was ten-and-seven, well past the age of believing in things better left behind in childhood.

No matter what he’d just seen.

He stepped away from the sight, to give himself distance from it. It had no doubt been nothing more than sunlight on a bit of leftover morning mist, or too much rich food the night before and not enough time in the lists that morning. The possibilities were endless, but the truth was easily narrowed down to one simple thing: a true knight concentrated on steel and horses and honor. There was no room in his future for things of a more ethereal nature.

Surely.

“Montgomery?”

He turned back to the business at hand, nodded briskly, then followed his brother to the keep. Steel, horses, and honor. Those would be the stars he would guide his life by and thereby find himself comfortably joining the company of his father and brothers. That was, after all, what he wanted most.

He nodded to Robin, put on a determined expression, and left his childhood behind him as he should have done years earlier. It was done without a twinge of regret.

Truly.

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON PRESENT DAY

 

 

I
t
wasn’t often that a girl had the chance to get lost in a fairy tale.

Persephone Josephine Alexander wasn’t one to find herself in those sorts of straits, but she was hardly in a position at present to do anything about it. She was captive in the darkened wings of a venerable Seattle theater, watching something undeniably magical unfold in front of her. The handsome prince, accompanied by a breathtaking set of strings, was vocally waxing rhapsodic about the charms of the appallingly lovely girl across the stage, while that girl was accompanying his waxing with her own musical commentary about his perfections. It wasn’t long before the pair fell into each other’s arms as if they’d been born for just that moment, their voices mingling in perfect harmony, soaring above the orchestra and leaving very few dry eyes in the audience.

Pippa was sure of that because she’d peeked out into that audience—after she’d dragged her sleeve across her own eyes, of course. Damned dust allergies kicking up at the most inopportune moments.

She got hold of herself, then turned back to her purely academic study of the love story going on in front of her. She had to admit, grudgingly, that it looked as real as anything she’d ever seen anywhere—or at least it did until the handsome prince stepped on the back of his soon-to-be princess’s dress and tore it half off.

Pippa came back to earth abruptly at the two glares she found thrown her way as the prince and his lady attempted to dance as if nothing had happened. Fortunately there were no further mishaps before the couple managed to get themselves off stage for the last costume change.

“Lovely designs, Pippa,” the princess said shortly as she ran off the stage. “Too bad you couldn’t have sewn them better. I imagine Frank agrees.”

“Pippa didn’t design them,” Frank whispered sharply, “and given what I’ve seen tonight, it was a mistake to let her sew them.”

Pippa didn’t bother to respond to that. She had indeed designed all the costumes, as well as having sewn most of them, but she was standing on the brink of a truly remarkable piece of good fortune, and she didn’t want to jinx it by arguing the point with a successful show’s director on closing night.

Though it was really tempting to take the pair of dressmaker’s shears she had stuck in the back of her belt and cut off Frank’s ponytail while he was otherwise engaged in sucking up to his leads and belittling the little people. Fortunately for his dignity, she found herself suddenly too busy repairing tears and replacing sequins to do any trimming.

By the time she had gotten all the costumes put away for someone lower than she on the food chain to worry about cleaning in the morning, she had given up the idea of revenge. Petty theater directors and grumpy actors were in her past. Her future was a sparkling green city in the not-so-distant distance and there was nothing standing between them but a no-nonsense flight to England. She got herself home through a damp and rather foggy Seattle night, then settled happily into her favorite pair of flannel pajamas before going in search of a decent post-production snack.

Half an hour later, she pulled her last cinnamon-sugar Pop-Tart from the toaster, then frowned at the smell. Something was burning, and it wasn’t what she was holding in her hand. She leaned forward and sniffed her toaster. No, not there, either.

She followed her nose to her front door, then opened it and looked out into the hallway. Gaspard, her neighbor, flung open his door, shrieking curses in French as he jerked off his chef’s hat, threw it on the floor, and stomped out the flames. He looked at her.

“Run,
chérie
.”

It took her a moment to reconcile herself to the fact that flames were licking his doorframe, which meant he was obviously not just capable of dispensing advice on how to make a killer Bolognese sauce but could also run a mean escape operation. She watched the smoke begin to billow for a moment or two before she realized that she was about to become as crispy as the pastry she was holding in her hand.