Ivy's Choice (The Fey Quartet Book 3) (5 page)

Gods, give me strength,
Hugh prayed again, bent his head and tasted her with his tongue.

Ivy’s scent, her sweet-salty flavor, forced a groan from him. His cock lunged against his belly, straining with need. The last shreds of Hugh’s control deserted him. He settled himself between her legs, slid one arm around her waist, tilted her hips to him.

Their lovemaking was frantic, almost wild, their bodies striving together. Hugh lost all sense of time and place and who he was, or even what he was—man or beast or both. Dimly, distantly, he felt Ivy convulse beneath him, and then a brutal orgasm wrenched through him, almost making him scream.

Afterwards, he lay panting, shuddering—and ashamed of himself. That hadn’t been how he’d wanted to make love to Ivy.

So, do it over,
a voice whispered in his head.

Hugh considered this while his breathing steadied. He felt fully in control of himself now, as if that painful climax had driven the last of the beast from him.

Ivy stirred, and pulled away. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Not hungry? But you’ve hardly eaten all day. You nee
d—
”

“Not yet.” Hugh cupped her nape in his hand and kissed her gently.

THIS TIME, IT
went how he wanted. He drew out Ivy’s pleasure, making her whimper and gasp. She climaxed three times, once to his mouth, once to his fingers, and once with his cock inside her. His own climax, when it came, rolled over him endlessly, until he thought it would never stop.

At last, the echoing tingles of pleasure dissipated. Hugh gathered Ivy close and bowed his head so that his brow touched hers. Emotions swelled in his chest: tenderness, and a sense of wonder.
I think I love you, Ivy Miller
. “When this spell is broken, I’ll marry you,” he said. “I promise.”

Ivy stiffened beneath him. “No.” She pushed at his shoulder.

Hugh rolled off her. “Iv
y—
”

“No obligation. Don’t you remember?” She pulled down her smock.

“But—”

“You didn’t marry that widow in Dapple Meadow, did you?”

“What?”

“That pretty widow you were friendly with. You didn’t marry her.”

Hugh stared at Ivy in appalled disbelief. “How do you know about her?”

“The whole vale knew about her. You’re the Lord Warder’s son. People talk about you. You and Tam both.”

Heat rose in Hugh’s face. “I didn’t marry Beatrice because she didn’t want me to.” Beatrice had wanted a lover, not another husband. She’d made that clear from the start.

“Well, neither do I. Where’s my crutch?”

Hugh handed it to her, and tried to gather his scattered wits. The whole of Dapple Vale had known about Beatrice?

With effort, he stopped his thoughts from veering down this track. Beatrice had been more than two years ago. What was important, right now, was Ivy.

Ivy climbed to her feet. “Would you like some food?”

What I want is to marry you.

Hugh stood, lurched, and almost fell. For a moment, the floor tilted alarmingly beneath his feet—and then everything settled into place: trestle table, stools, fireplace. He bent cautiously and picked up the blanket, shook it out, and wrapped it around himself, swaying slightly.

“Would you like some food?” Ivy asked again.

His balance became more firm. “Yes. Look, Iv
y—
”

“No.”

“But I
owe
—”

“No, you don’t.” Ivy calmly ladled pottage into a bowl.

“But—”

“I’m not the wife for you, Hugh Dappleward.” Ivy placed the bowl on the trestle table, and laid a spoon alongside. “A Lord Warder shouldn’t have a cripple for a wife. Eat.”

Hugh crossed silently to the table. How could Ivy be so cursed calm about this? He sat and picked up the spoon and turned it over in his fingers. “What if you’re pregnant?”

“I doubt I am. But if I am, then we deal with it later. Don’t worry about it now, Hugh. You have problems enough as it is.”

WHEN HE’D EATEN
the pottage, Ivy sliced rye bread and cold meat. “Eat,” she said, placing it in front of him.

Hugh eyed the plate. “I don’t know that I can.”

“You need to. You’re thinner than you were—and who knows how long this spell will last?”

Soberly, Hugh ate the bread and meat. “When do you think Hazel will return?”

“Some time tomorrow. Or rather, today.”

Hugh pushed his empty plate away. “I’ve been trying to remember . . .” He rubbed his brow. “I’ve been bespelled for three days. I think. I seem to remember . . . I think I’ve been a man three times. Twice here, and once in the woods.” His mind flinched from the memory: “It was dark, and I didn’t know where I was, or who I was, or even
what
I was, and . . . and it hurt and I was panicking and . . . I think it’s too real to be a nightmare. I think it happened. And I think . . .” Hugh took a deep breath. “I think Aleyn Fairborn did this to me.”

“Your
cousin
?” Ivy’s expression was aghast. “Surely not! He’s little more than a boy!”

“Eighteen.”

Ivy shook her head. He saw on her face that she didn’t want to believe him.

“You met Aleyn two weeks ago. What did you think of him?”

“He’s very handsome. And polite. Charming.”

“And . . . ?” Hugh prompted.

Ivy hesitated, and blew out a breath. “Truth be told, I thought him rather arrogant. It seemed to me that his smiles were all on the surface, that he didn’t mean them. That he thought Hazel too lowly a bride for a Dappleward.”

Hugh nodded, relieved she was so perceptive. “His mother was a vain woman. She thought very highly of herself. Aleyn caught the trick from her.”

“And his father?”

“Died when he was an infant.”

Ivy frowned, and traced a seam on the tabletop. “Will Aleyn become your father’s heir, if you and Tam die?”

“If we die, and if my father doesn’t remarry and have more sons . . . yes.”

Ivy’s frown deepened. “You and Tam and your father, you have humility. I’m not sure Aleyn does. If he became Lord Warder of Dapple Vale, he might make decisions for his own good, not the good of the vale. If he were Warder . . . I’d be afraid.”

With good cause
. Hugh grimaced, and kept the comment to himself.

Ivy rubbed the frown from her brow and shook her head. “Arrogant or not, Aleyn’s your
family
. I can’t believe he’d do such a thing! It must be someone else. Some other reason.”

“It’s not just his arrogance, Ivy . . . The last thing I remember, before this happene
d—
” Hugh gestured to his body,
“—
was riding out with Aleyn. We went as far as the triple oaks, and I remember Aleyn offering me his flask, and I remember drinking . . . It tasted like blood. After that, all I remember is being a roebuck.”

Ivy held his gaze for a long moment, and then nodded. Her face was pale and grave. “So . . . it probably was Aleyn.”

Hugh nodded back.

“If it was Aleyn, he’ll likely come with your father. He’ll want to know whether you have your wits about you. He must fear you’ll be able to . . . to
indicate
that he’s to blame.”

“I think I could—if I had to.” He wouldn’t need speech for that; he could do it with his behavior.

“So, if Aleyn
does
come . . .” Ivy steepled her hands and pressed them to her lips, thinking.

Hugh watched her. Gods, she was lovely—the arch of her eyebrows, the high cheekbones—but far more than he admired the structure of her face, he admired her composure, her intelligence. Ivy Miller wasn’t a woman to be overset by problems. She’d never fall into hysterics; she’d think her problems through, as she was thinking now, calmly and rationally.

I am one of her problems. And she is one of mine
. Not his biggest problem at this moment, but his second biggest. One that baffled him almost as much as his bespelling.

Why
had Ivy willingly lain with him?

Not because she wanted to marry him; she’d made that quite plain.

Hugh remembered the taste of her in his mouth, remembered her gasping and shuddering as the climax took her—and then he remembered Ivy saying, cool and unflustered,
I am not the wife for you.

He strongly disagreed. Ivy Miller possessed every quality he wanted in his wife.

Why
wouldn’t she marry him? Her passion had matched his, she clearly felt warm emotions for him—and yet she had rebuffed his offer. Twice.

A Lord Warder shouldn’t have a cripple for a wife,
Ivy had told him. Surely she didn’t believe that? Her lameness was unimportant. It was Ivy’s quiet strength, her compassion, her astuteness, that had captured his heart. Whether or not she used a crutch was irrelevant.

Ivy lowered her hands. “If your cousin comes, we need Larkspur. She’ll know whether Aleyn did it or not. He won’t be able to hide it from her. And if there’s a way of reversing the spell—if he
thinks
of it in her presence—she’ll know that, too.”

Her words focused Hugh’s attention absolutely. He allowed himself a moment’s cautious hope. “Will she do it?
Can
she do it? You said it was driving her mad.”

“It is. But it would only take a few minutes. I’ll ask her first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Hugh rubbed his face. Stubble rasped beneath his hand, a half-day’s growth of whiskers.

“You should sleep,” Ivy said.

“Sleep?” Hugh shook his head. “I can’t sleep. Not knowing what’s coming.” How long until he changed back into a deer? One hour? Two? His stomach tightened at thought of the pain that lay ahead. He regretted the food he’d eaten.

Ivy didn’t argue, she just nodded. “Very well,” she said. “Let’s discuss the most obvious eventualities and plan for them. What do we do if your cousin comes? What do we do if he doesn’t? Or if he
does
come, and Larkspur says it wasn’t him who did this to you?”

I love you, Ivy Miller.

Hugh leaned his forearms on the table and gratefully bent his mind to the questions she’d posed.

HUGH WATCHED FROM
the forest edge as four riders approached Widow Miller’s cottage. He let his gaze rest on each rider. His brother, Tam. Hazel Miller. Cadoc Ironfist. And Aleyn Fairborn.

His father hadn’t come, but Tam and Cadoc had, and they were every bit as competent as the Lord Warder.
They’ll save me, if anyone can
. He found it suddenly much easier to breathe, as if his lungs and ribcage had expanded.

Tam swung down from his horse and turned to help Hazel dismount. Hugh saw Ivy limp from the cottage, saw the people and horses mill. To his deer’s eyes the late afternoon sky was an odd shade of blue and the meadow a dull green, blotched with gray and white flowers. The horses, the riders, and the clothes the riders wore were varying shades of gray, from off-white to almost black, except for Cadoc’s blue hood, which stood out clearly.

Ivy went into the cottage. So did Hazel. Then a minute later, Tam and Aleyn together. Cadoc took the horses to the brook to drink.

Several minutes passed, then Hazel emerged from the cottage. She headed briskly for the forest.

Hugh’s pulse picked up.
It’s starting
.

Hazel crossed the meadow, and paused just inside the cool gloom of Glade Forest, looking around.

Hugh stepped out onto the path.

Hazel put her hands on her hips and stared down at him, lips pursed, frowning. “So you’re Hugh Dappleward?” And then the frown dissolved. “Poor soul.” She bent and hugged him. “We’ll do all we can, Hugh.”

Hugh leaned his head against her, a silent
thank you
.

It took twenty minutes to reach the woodcutter’s cottage. Hazel walked fast, almost running. Larkspur waited for them at the edge of the clearing, a piece of rope in her hand. Hugh stood back and watched Hazel hug her sister fiercely, then hold her at arm’s length. “Are you sure you have the strength for this, love?”

Larkspur nodded, and glanced at Hugh.
Thank you,
he told her silently, and knew that she, at least, heard.

“Ivy said Hugh’s going to pretend to do something—but then Aleyn came in and she couldn’t tell me what. What?”

“He’ll pretend not to recognize anyone, and he’ll pretend to be mad.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s safer for him—if it
is
Aleyn who cast this spell.”

“Oh.” Hazel’s brow cleared. “Of course it is. A mad Hugh is no threat; a sane one
is
. Tam’s no fool. If Hugh tried to tell him something—even if he couldn’t speak—Tam would figure it out.”

“Ivy was afraid Aleyn might try to kill Hugh. This way, he has no reason to.”

“None at all!” Hazel said firmly. She took the rope from her sister. “Come on. Let’s be off to the bluebell dell.”

They walked more slowly, now. Hazel held Larkspur’s hand. She radiated an intense, anxious protectiveness. The two red-brown hounds came. Bess stayed close to the women, but Bartlemay cast in circles around them, his tail wagging. Twice, he came up to Hugh and pranced, inviting him to play.

After ten minutes, Hazel called Bartlemay to her in a low voice and took hold of his scruff. “Can you hear them yet?” she asked her sister.

Larkspur walked forward cautiously and halted beneath a young alder. She grimaced, and nodded.

“Clearly?”

Larkspur nodded again.

“Can you cope?”

“For a few minutes, yes.”

“Bartlemay, Bess—sit, stay.” When the hounds had settled themselves at Larkspur’s feet, Hazel tied the rope around Hugh’s neck in a loose halter. “Let’s make this quick,” she told him. “Ivy couldn’t get Tam aside. He doesn’t know the truth yet. He’s
frantic
with worry about you.” She checked the halter, making sure it wasn’t too tight. “Ready?”

Hugh dipped his head in a nod. Tension was tight in his belly.

Hazel blew out a breath. “Very well, let’s act out this charade.”

HAZEL LED HIM
into the bluebell dell. Ivy was there, leaning on her crutch. Tam and Cadoc. And Aleyn.