The Renegade's Heart (23 page)

Isabella had need of a horse.

* * *

Chapter
Ten

Rhys FitzHenry was glad to be within shouting
distance of Kinfairlie keep. He could not blame his lady wife for
wanting to visit her family and to lend aid to her brother’s wife.
He had argued in favor of a spring visit, for Madeline was only
just recovering from the delivery of their daughter. Rhys would
have been content to have remained at home with his family in
winter.

On the other hand, there was naught he could
deny his lady wife when she was determined. Madeline was convinced
that Eleanor had need of her, and Rhys saw only one way to allay
her fears.

So they rode to Kinfairlie.

Their party was small, just a maid, a squire
and another man-at-arms. Their initial plan had been to stop
nightly to let the horses rest, keeping their own steeds instead of
changing mounts. It had meant slower passage, but Rhys was not of a
mind to relinquish any of his horses to the hand of another, even
for a short period of time. In addition, he had thought a slower
passage would make the journey easier for the children.

Against all expectation, it had become
wickedly cold these past few days, cold enough that Rhys had
refused to ride on several mornings. The wind sent a chill through
his bones that left him shivering long after they were seated
before the fire in an inn. Rhys had never known even the north to
be this cold, and Madeline – who had grown up at Kinfairlie –
agreed with his assessment in that. Due to the weather, they had
made even slower progress than Rhys had hoped. It had been by his
own choices, but still he chafed to arrive.

’Twas a relief indeed to know that they would
be at Kinfairlie’s hall within the hour. It was only just falling
dark, the evening coming early this time of year. Rhys was glad
that soon there would be meat upon a board before him, ale to
quench a traveler’s thirst and warm beds for the children.

His son, Dafydd, dozed in the saddle before
him, his father’s grasp keeping him from falling. The boy had not
seen three summers, but he was tall for his age and hale. He was
his father’s pride. His daughter, Rhiannon, was only months old and
slept in a length of cloth bound around Madeline’s shoulders. The
child was close enough to nurse, if necessary, as they rode, and
also to share Madeline’s heat. Madeline, even now, had her
fur-lined cloak closed around the child. Her face was too rosy,
though, pinkened from the cold, and Rhys would see her before a
fire with all haste.

The shadow of Kinfairlie’s forest closed
around them, the boundary marker well behind them, and Rhys felt an
increment of tension ease from his shoulders.

Soon.

It was strangely dark and cold in the forest,
given that the trees were barren of leaves. Rhys glanced upward,
noting the blue of the late afternoon sky. He could still see the
sun in the west, hovering above the horizon, and could not imagine
why the forest was so very dark. It must be a trick of the
light.

“Do you finally cease to fret?” Madeline
demanded, a twinkle in her eye. “By all the saints in heaven, Rhys,
you worry more than a hundred old women.”

“I but show a care for the welfare of my
family,” Rhys protested with a smile. He was well accustomed to his
wife teasing him for his protectiveness, though he knew she relied
upon it. “’Tis not the finest time of year to journey all the
length of England, never mind with a young son and a babe.”

Madeline’s smile faded and she reached to
touch the back of his hand. “I know, Rhys, but Alexander’s missive
at Yuletide left me uneasy. I cannot help but fear for
Eleanor.”

“But he said she was well enough with the
child, just as before.” Rhys protested by rote, for they had had
this discussion a dozen times or more.

Madeline winced. “You know as well as I that
she always does more than she should, and I fear that she will
demand too much of herself. With a child in her belly, she should
retire to the solar more often, but she will not do it if she sees
tasks to be done.”

“Your sisters are there.”

“But there is labor she will not entrust to
them. I know Eleanor.” Rhys saw his lady’s concern and turned his
hand so that he clasped her fingers. She sighed. “I simply would be
of aid to Eleanor, and do what I can to ensure the safe arrival of
their child.”

“I understand,” Rhys agreed quietly. “But
know that if ’twas any less than the full desire of your heart to
do this thing, I should have insisted we remain at home.”

“You tried as much.” Madeline’s grip
tightened on his fingers. “Thank you for indulging my whim,
anwylaf
.” The pair shared a smile that made Rhys yearn for
the warm bed he would share with his lady on this night.

He reluctantly released her hand. “You, too,
should be resting abed in the solar.”

Madeline smiled. “Perhaps Eleanor and I shall
nap together.” Her smile turned mischievous. “Or would you prefer
that I slept the nights with my brother’s wife, as well?”

“I should not!” Rhys protested, savoring the
way his Madeline laughed. The baby hiccupped and she peeked beneath
her cloak. She whispered to the child and Dafydd stirred restlessly
before Rhys.

“Have we arrived as yet?” he asked, squirming
in a most familiar way.

“Soon,” Rhys told the boy. “’Twill be soon
enough.”

“But I cannot wait.” The boy cupped his hand
over himself and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have to
piss!”

Rhys shared a smile with Madeline, then
indicated the side of the road. “The path is straight and we are
within Kinfairlie’s bounds. Carry on and we shall catch up before
you leave the forest.”

“’Twill be better thus,” Madeline agreed.
“’Twill be an hour before we are free of the welcome we are sure to
gain.”

“It will be all the greater for our arriving
unannounced,” Rhys said, then halted his steed.

He lifted down Dafydd and helped him with his
chausses, impressed when the boy loosed an impressive volume. “You
fared well in this,” he murmured, glad he had not found himself
riding in dampness. Dafydd sighed with such relief that Rhys found
himself grinning.

Rhys stood between the horse and the boy, his
gaze flicking between the party that continued through the woods
and his son. He crouched to help Dafydd refasten his chausses just
as a cry rang through the woods.

“Halt!” shouted a male voice Rhys did not
recognize. “Halt and surrender all of value.”

Rhys straightened in alarm, holding his son
close. What was this? Thieves in Kinfairlie’s forest?

Horses whinnied and shied on the road ahead.
Rhys saw more shadows, surrounding his family’s party. He saw the
flash of a blade and Madeline’s maid screamed.

“Rhys!” Madeline cried and Rhys’ blood ran
cold.

He seized his son, those chausses still
unlaced, and swung into his saddle. He bound the boy to the pommel
before him, even as he gave his spurs to his horse. “Be quiet and
brave,” Rhys counseled his son as they galloped down the road. “I
need you to remain with the horse and ensure his safety, no matter
what happens.”

Dafydd nodded, his heart thundering beneath
Rhys’ hand. Rhys felt his son’s fear more keenly than his own
concern, and knew he would have the liver of the man who dared to
threaten his own family.

And if Madeline sustained so much as a
scratch, he would make that villain watch his own
disembowelment.

* * *

The Fae were everywhere.

Isabella could not believe as much, but her
own eyes revealed the truth. They were thick on the rafters in the
stables, and there were eyes peering from the stacks of hay in the
corners. She concocted some tale about wanting a ride and the
ostler saddled a mare for her, so untroubled by the pinching
fingers and cackling Fae that surrounded him that Isabella knew he
could not be pretending to be oblivious.

How did Elizabeth bear the sight? How was it
that she spoke only of Darg when there was the Fae were so
numerous? Isabella would have to ask her.

Maybe something had changed.

A pair of trolls stood sentinel beside the
gatekeeper, as impassive as a pair of standing stones. The air was
full of glittering golden dust, some of which proved to be small
winged Fae, laughing as they swooped through the air.

As Isabella rode across Kinfairlie’s fields,
she could not help but notice that the concentration of Fae became
greater with every step the horse took. The forest seemed to
emanate a radiance unlike anything she had ever seen before. She
could have been riding into a swarm of fireflies, approaching the
vortex of their flock.

The mare seemed drawn to the golden light and
Isabella let her choose her own path through the bracken. She had a
feeling that Murdoch would be found where the light was brightest,
but she was mistaken.

The light emanated from a Fae court.

It could be nothing else. Isabella halted the
horse to stare on the marvel of the sight. Golden light with no
particular source lit the clearing in the forest, creating a
glowing half-sphere. Within the illuminated space, courtiers danced
– courtiers with wings and antennae and heads that were not human.
They ranged in size from being twice the height of Isabella to
being small enough to stand upon her palm. Their laughter was like
the tinkle of silver bells and their music was both haunting and
infectious.

In the midst of the circle sat a couple
playing chess, each of them enthroned as they leaned over the board
from opposing sides. The man had a long dark beard, which he
stroked with elegant fingers. His robes were crimson and
embroidered with gold, the hem of his cloak edged in white ermine
fur. He wore rings on every finger and his pale green wings arched
high overhead, fluttering slightly as he considered his play. His
crown was as gold as sunlight, gleaming so brightly that Isabella
could scarce look upon it.

The woman’s hair was as dark as midnight, and
it flowed over her shoulders, past her hips. Her eyes could have
been deep pools and her lips were as red as blood. She was dressed
in silver and black, like a goddess of the night, stars seemingly
stitched onto her mantle and frost ornamenting its hems.

She wore a crown that could have been made of
spider webs garnished with dewdrops. The water beads glittered like
crystals, shimmering when she moved her head to speak to one of her
attendants. Her wings rose dark and large behind her. They looked
like black lace and they fluttered slightly. In pleasure?
Anticipation? Isabella could not say.

And all over the skin of both of them was the
same blue tracery that Isabella had seen on Murdoch’s wrist.
Indeed, every denizen of the court was so marked, leaving no doubt
what Isabella saw. She knew she should turn away, she knew she
should close her eyes to the frantic swirl of the small Fae that
could have been fireflies, but she could not imagine how she would
ever pretend to be oblivious to this sight.

The dark queen held some item on her lap. She
lifted it and turned it in the light, examining its contents. With
horror, Isabella saw that it was a crystal orb, one that glowed
faintly with an inner light.

And within it pulsed a wet red heart.

Even knowing that she should flee, Isabella
urged the horse closer. She had to see that heart.

She had to know whose it was.

Half of the heart had turned dark and dead,
looking more like the rotting leaves on the forest floor than a
source of life and vitality. A winged courtier fluttered beside the
orb, the tiny blue Fae circling the crystal as she examined its
contents.

“Murdoch challenges you,” the king said,
amusement in his tone. “I like him well, for it does not suit a man
to be too biddable.”

Isabella knew then that Moira had been right.
This dark queen had put the marks on Murdoch’s flesh. And that was
why he refused to discuss them, why they terrified him, because he
knew the Fae queen’s intent.

“He will be mine in the end, no matter how
much you meddle.” The dark queen stroked the orb, kissed it and
cradled it in her hands. Her smile was hungry and not very
kind.

The king smiled and moved a piece on the
board. The queen’s eyes flashed like thunder. She snatched up the
orb and kicked over the board. “You will not cheat me of my prize!”
she roared.

Isabella felt a strange wind rise then, one
filled with shadows and rot. It emanated from the queen, swirling
like a tempest. It spun around the regal pair as the king held his
ground, carrying a spiral of dark leaves up to the sky along with
it. She had the vague sense of the dark queen spreading her cloak
wide to float over the entire forest, then that wind buffeted her
so hard that she had to close her eyes against its onslaught. She
guessed then that the wind that had tormented Kinfairlie had
arrived with this queen, because she hunted Murdoch.

And misfortune followed her.

Isabella had no sooner realized as much than
the king clapped his hands and the entire court disappeared. In the
blink of an eye, it was gone, gone so surely it might not have
been. The forest might have held its breath and the horse
shuddered, sensing some peril close at hand.

When a woman screamed, Isabella jumped.

That the woman screamed a man’s name told her
who it was.

Her sister, Madeline.

Isabella shouted to the horse and charged
through the forest toward the road, fearing the worst.

* * *

Gavin heard the party enter Kinfairlie’s
forest and slipped through the trees to see. He watched from the
shadows, calculating the damage he might do in Lord Murdoch’s
stead. That man had not yet returned, and Stewart had fallen asleep
in their camp, still tired from the long day of riding the day
before.