A Kind of Magic (3 page)

The woman was spirited but frightened, and he could well understand her feeling.

Understand he might, but there was nothing for it but to get on with what needed to be done. He kept his attention on reaching safety but couldn’t ignore the feel of soft, womanly curves beneath his hand, or help but notice the thick, bright color and springy texture of the hair that brushed his cheek. Hair that was but a bit below shoulder-length—far too short for his liking. He’d have her grow it out when they were wed.

Maddie fought her confusion as she had for hours. She did her best to keep calm as the horse hurtled down the track, not because of the threat of her captor’s knife but because concentrating on staying calm helped her not think about the knife. The sword.

The strange clothes. Or the hard-muscled body so close to hers. She was almost too aware of the steely arm around her waist and the bare thighs that brushed against her hips.

She had dreamed about Toby many times but never like this. Well, she’d had erotic thoughts about how his body would feel, but the weaponry had never been part of her fantasies. This had to be a dream, a phantasm, but Maddie was fully prepared to deny that she was the one having it. She was too practical to conjure up anything so outrageous.

15

Susan Sizemore

He had said something about marrying her. That was certainly something she wanted Toby to say, but this was hardly the time or place. What she needed now was a logical explanation of everything that had happened. She wanted to ask him some questions but he’d been rather adamant about her keeping quiet.

Then again, who was he to give her orders? Other than a possible figment of her imagination and armed to the teeth. She decided not to let these considerations stop her.

“What’s going on?”

“Hush.”

“No.”

His grip tightened. He leaned close. His breath brushed across her ear. The intimate nearness sent a shiver through her. Fear, Maddie told herself, as he said, “Obedience is a virtue in a wife.”

“I’m not your wife.” And she wasn’t going to be, no matter how much she’d always wanted him, if he kept being rude to her. “We have to get a few things straightened out first.”

“I have spoken my intent,” he answered. “That is enough.”

“Being enigmatic is not a virtue in anyone,” she responded.

Rowan stopped the horse and dragged the woman to the ground. Not to continue the conversation but because of what he’d heard coming up behind them. This was no time for talk. The Hunters were on their trail.

Though they moved almost silently, Rowan’s hearing was trained to detect their approach. He knew the swords they carried were silver or crystal or obsidian. They feared the cold iron of his own weapons but their blades were sharp. And there were at least three of them. No doubt they had their black hounds with them as well.

He shoved the woman to the ground. “Stay.”

Rowan thought of the strange lights the night before, followed by the appearance of this strangely dressed woman, and now the presence of the beings behind them.

Somewhere there was a connection. The White Lady had sent the woman to him for his clan. Rowan would not let the fair folk interfere with his saving his people.

He could feel her glare against his back as he hurried to his saddlebag. He drew out a pouch of salt mixed with herbs then sent the animal on its way with a swat on the rump. He must not face the Hunters on horseback but with his feet on the strong earth of his own land. He turned back to his bride. She sat where he’d put her, arms crossed beneath her ample bosom. She looked confused but at least she was obedient for the moment.

Rowan quickly sprinkled the salt in a circle around her. “Don’t move,” he warned,

“and they won’t see you.”

Maddie was thoroughly frustrated. “Who they?”

He turned his back to her without bothering to answer. She watched the play of muscles in his arms as he reached up and pulled the long sword from the sheath on his 16

A Kind of Magic

back. It came out with a dangerous metal rasp. He leaned forward slightly, the weapon held before him in a two-handed grip.

Who was he prepared to use it against? What was going on here?

She nearly shouted but then the circle he’d traced around her started to glow and the light shot up around her in an enveloping arc. Then it turned a shimmering, lustrous white. For a few moments she felt as though she were trapped inside a pearl.

Then she felt nothing as her senses went blank once more.

Rowan faced the trio of Hunters squarely, though the sight of them was disturbing.

Theirs was a beauty that inflamed the senses, though he had no desire to mingle with any of their immortal kind. Still, to merely behold the fair folk straight on was an invitation to commit every sin of sensual indulgence. Images of warm naked flesh and the musky scent of lust teased at his controlled emotions. He recognized that he was being drawn into a spell even as his blood warmed with hot need, sang with longing.

The nearness of the woman in the charmed circle called out to him. His body craved her touch even though he forced his mind to concentrate the business of the moment.

“The sunlight belongs to me and mine,” Rowan told the newcomers. “We do not walk in your moonlight world without invitation.”

The tallest of the fair folk put up a hand. Silver hair floated about her thin shoulders, her great oval eyes were silver as well, with hardly any white in them. She carried no weapon but the other two had black stone swords held at the ready. “Peace, leader of the Mermaid’s Children. Your father granted us the right to hunt in your lands for your stepmother’s sake.”

“My father is dead,” he reminded the fairy woman. “His wife returned to her own land.”

She frowned in puzzlement and touched the tip of her long, pointed ear. “Is this so?

How oddly time passes in your world. I thought I talked to your father just a few days ago.”

“Your days are our years,” he reminded her.

“So someone once told me.” She fluttered her long-fingered hands and a butterfly came to rest on her thumb. “Or perhaps I am remembering this conversation before we have it.”

“Perhaps.”

Rowan thought he heard beautiful music. The air in the clearing was scented with a concentration of all the flowers of spring. The day was ripe with promises of love.

It was the fairy spell that brought all these images to his senses. Rowan fought hard against it, though his blood flamed and pulsed with ever-growing need. Still, he thought he could feel the soft tendrils of his promised bride’s wine red hair brush against his cheek. He felt her gaze caressing him, the blue color of her eyes darkened with desire. Her mouth opened to welcome his kiss.

17

Susan Sizemore

The images were conjured up out of his own imagination and fairy magic, this he knew. The knowledge that it wasn’t really real kept him from turning, from leaping through the protection of the salt circle and revealing the woman’s presence as he fell on her to rut.

Though his limbs quivered faintly with hard-held craving, Rowan kept his wits and his attention on the Hunters. He took a deep breath then said, “If you hunt among my folk for bed partners to pleasure you, I will see you dead.”

The fairy woman drew herself up proudly. She shone with impossible haughty beauty. Rowan neither looked away nor ran to embrace her. It was hard not to move but he knew his lust would not be satisfied by her immortal kind.

The fairy woman forgot her hauteur and smiled enticingly. She held out her hand to him. “We dance in the moonlight with those mortals who come to us of their own free will.”

Rowan shook his head, as much to clear it as in negation. He knew that her words were not completely true for he could feel her trying to bend his will to hers even as she spoke of free choice.

“I will not be your mortal lover,” he said. He gestured around the clearing. “You weave this net of lust around me to divert me from your true purpose in my lands.”

Her smile was as sharp as a blade. Her words were piercing. “I set magic loose at our meeting,” she admitted. “But it is your own loneliness that gives the spell the shape of mortal desire.”

Her words sank deeply into him, though he denied their truth to himself. He had too many cares, too many people dependent on him to allow himself such a selfish emotion as loneliness.

“What do you hunt, if not lovers?” he demanded.

“Nothing to do with mortal kind,” the fairy leader answered. She glanced at the warriors who stood patiently beside her. “Our prey is a hawk. The great bird that soared, screeching through our sky last night.”

Rowan lifted his head sharply. “You heard that? Saw the lights?”

The fairy fluttered her hands again while her companions glanced at each other.

The creatures were nervous, Rowan realized. Of course they would not tell him the whole truth, the fair folk never did.

“What was it?” he asked. “What sort of hawk, even a magical one, flies at night?”

“The bird belongs to us,” the leader replied. “Our mistress sends us to bring it to her. That is our hunt,” she said with stern finality. She crossed her arms beneath her small breasts. Her expression was haughty and utterly inhuman. “We seek what is ours.

You will not hinder us.”

If some magical creature had indeed escaped from their world into his, he wanted it gone. He wanted them gone. Enflamed by magic or not, his blood burned with growing lust. It made the effort to deal with the fairy hunters more difficult by the moment. He 18

A Kind of Magic

wanted to get on with his wedding and saving his people. Even more than the wedding, he wanted his wedding night. He didn’t think he would be able to wait. The fairy magic had seen to that.

He forced his attention to remain on the immortal intruders for a while longer.

“Hunt then. Take from my lands only what is rightfully yours and we have no quarrel.”

The fairy nodded. “Agreed.”

Rowan watched with effort but warily alert as the Hunters moved back. It seemed as though they took but one step—then they were gone. Though the eerie sound of their fey laughter rang after them in the clearing.

Rowan took no mind of the noise. With the fair folk gone, he was alone with the red-haired mortal. She was his woman. He meant to have her.

19

Susan Sizemore

She must have passed out again. She didn’t know why she kept doing that but she didn’t like it one little bit. The world just kept coming up and hitting her in the face. The first time it had gone dark, this time everything had gone white. The effect had been the same. Except she was thoroughly annoyed when she came to this time.

Maddie got to her feet as Toby turned to her. “First off, wha—”

The look on his face told her he wasn’t interested in talking. He tossed his sword aside. Maddie did not find his sudden lack of weaponry reassuring. She took a hasty step back but he was very fast.

He swept down on her, all hard muscle and hot-blooded determination. Within moments he had one arm around her waist. She struggled but there was no breaking his iron grip. He pulled her close. His other hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. He pulled her head up and his lips came down on hers just as she opened her mouth to scream. The sound was muffled by the sharp thrust of his tongue. His lips ground against hers with bruising possessiveness as he caught her even closer. She was aware of taut muscle beneath the rough wool and linen pressed against her skin. She was more aware of the big hand that pressed her to him, the heat that radiated from his palm like a small sun sending out flares at the very base of her spine. His long fingers circled her waist in a powerful grip. Urgent need radiated from him, from his touch, from the way his mouth moved over hers as though he were drawing life from her.

She’d always wanted Toby to kiss her but not like this. This was too much, too fast, too soon, too
sexual
. It was all wrong and she was scared to death. Panic almost overcame Maddie at being surrounded by such an overwhelming male presence.

She also knew what a Scotsman wore under his kilt.

She could feel his erection pressing hard against her thigh. Desperation forced her to drive her knee up hard with all the force she could manage into her assailant’s groin.

Rowan howled with pain. Lust was forgotten. He thrust the woman away as he automatically bent to protect his crotch. As his head came down, a fist caught him hard under the chin.

He fell to his knees with lights behind his eyes and agony in his privates. It didn’t help his situation when he felt the tip of his own sword nudge him in the ribs just as he began to recover from the woman’s attack.

“Keep your hands off me, Toby Coltrane.”

Her words came out in an angry, breathless snarl. He heard the quaver of fear beneath. Rowan looked up a long way to meet her gaze and saw the fear there as well.

20

A Kind of Magic

He blamed her not one bit for her reaction to him. And who the devil was Toby Coltrane?

It took him a few more moments to find his voice around the ragged gasps of pain.

“Give me the sword, lass.”

“Get real.”

He was as real as he was ever going to be. The pain certainly was real. The need to have her had been real, even if not of his volition. The need was still there, though shoved to the back of his mind by discomfort, shame and the immediacy of the situation. He didn’t think he was still being affected by the fair folks’ spell though.

There was something about the way the woman stood bravely facing him that called to him. He still wanted to claim her and would, but his aching member warned him that it would not be in the near future.

He could tell by the slight quivering of her arms that she was having trouble holding three feet of sharpened steel steady. Rowan got slowly to his feet. If she’d had sense, she’d run him through, but he took the chance that she would back away instead.

She did. But the sword was still in her hands.