Roses & Thorns (11 page)

"Not
now, Culdun," came the quiet command from above her head. "There'll
be time enough for questions later."

"True,"
Culdun agreed, and smiled. He touched her cheek again and then was gone, taking
his nieces with him.

"Are
you warmer?" Drew asked.

"Yes,
but please don't leave me." She took hold of the arms that held her. "I
couldn't bear to have you leave."

"I
won't."

Exhaustion
and relief flooded Angelique. Again she found her eyes closing, but this time
there was no deathly chill, only the warm glow of the fire and the safe haven
of Drew's arms.

"I'm
sorry I missed dinner," Angelique mumbled.

"I
was beginning to think you'd forgotten."

"How
could I forget when I'd made it so plain that you were not to be excused?"

She
was rewarded with a soft chuckle. Then, "Sleep now."

"Are
you sure it's safe? Sometimes with frostbite..." she began, but found her
thoughts were muddled, and she could not pick up the thread of what she'd been
saying once she'd stopped.

"You're
safe now."

"I'm
still cold."

"You
will be for a while. I'll stay with you."

"Protecting
me again." She nestled down further into the quilt. "Thank you for
coming after me."

A
brief tightening, a hug, was the reply.

"Drew?"

"Yes."

"You
will be at dinner tomorrow night, won't you?"

"Tomorrow
and every night. I promise."

And
then Angelique slept.

The
whisper of faery music curled around Angelique's dreams. Like foggy little
wisps, tendrils of joy and enchantment teased the comers of her awareness,
coaxing, luring her back into that fey land of delights.

She
could feel Drew's arms about her, but whether or not she dreamed the embrace
she could not tell. A feathery kiss brushed her temple. Then she felt her hand
lifted and held. She murmured in surprise — Drew's hands were still gloveless!

The
taste of the faery wine seemed to linger on her lips, and Angelique chased the
sweet taste with the tip of her tongue. A finger rose to touch where her tongue
had just been and Angelique shivered at the sensuousness of the touch. She
heard the faery music again and for a while, it seemed, she drifted. She could
feel Drew's fingers on her skin, tracing the curve of her bottom lip, moving to
cup her cheek and then straying back again.

Feeling
playful, she nipped and caught the fingertip. It stilled obediently. Holding it
lightly between her teeth, she passed the tip of her tongue over the rounded
end and was rewarded with a muffled groan and a shiver. She let go and the hand
slid to her chin, tilting it up and back.

Angelique
struggled to open her eyes, but everything seemed distant and out of focus. She
could see a dark tumble of hair framing a face she could not quite discern.
Reaching up, Angelique freed her arms from the quilt's embrace and pulled Drew
toward her. Her fingers tangled in the curling tangles at the nape of Drew's
neck and she delighted in the feel of the silken softness against her skin.

She
felt Drew's breath warm on her cheek and then the breath caught in her throat
as Drew's mouth captured her own. Faery tunes seemed to whirl about them as the
kiss deepened. A starry dust of silver and gold sparkles encircled them. Angelique
felt herself lifted and laid flat upon the downy quilt. Drew seemed to be
everywhere at once, above her, encircling her. She groaned as Drew broke off
the kiss reluctantly, and arched into Drew's willing hands which sought the
laces of her vest —

Angelique
woke with a gasp.

She
blinked, disconcerted. Then the quiet click of a latch drew her attention, and
she glimpsed the retreating figure as her bedroom door was softly pulled shut.
Angelique took a deep breath. Her heart gradually ceased pounding as the last
images of the dream began to fade. She was alone in her bed, the fire still
blazed in the hearth. It must have been a dream. It must have.

She
could no longer fight the call for rest. Unable to resist, she fell back into
sleep and into her dreams.

One
of the combs slipped again, and with a resigned grimace Angelique pulled it
free. The tumbling mass of hair spilled forward over her bare shoulder. She
frowned at the golden hairpiece, trying to discern what was wrong with its
design. Everything seemed right. Without much hope that it would stay long, she
lifted her hair from her face and slid the comb back into place for the third
time.

"My
Lady."

Angelique
smiled at Drew's deep bow, and, hands still busy with her hair, she dipped a
small curtsy. Her eyes grew bright with teasing mischief. "Such formality,
my Liege?"

Sweet
laughter was the reply and Angelique's heart skipped a beat.

"I
see you are feeling better."

"Yes,
thank you."

"But
somewhat light-headed?"

"Just
a bit."

"The
effects of the faery wine tend to linger. Doubtless you will dream of their
music again tonight."

Angelique
blushed. "It was beautiful music."

"Yes."
There was a hesitant pause before Drew added, "but the memory of that
beauty pales next to your own. If I may be so bold, my Lady — you are
breathtaking tonight."

"Thank
you," Angelique murmured, smoothing the satin and velvet skirts. The deep
midnight blue sparkled with bits of gold thread. It had reminded her of the
starry, moonless sky of this magickal world. She had chosen the dress
especially in hopes of gaining just such a compliment.

Drew
moved closer and a gloved hand lifted, almost daring to touch her cheek. But
Drew hesitated and began to move away, but Angelique caught the hand with both
of her own. Drew became still. For a moment, neither moved. Angelique turned
Drew's hand over, opening the curled fingers. "Last night you wore no
gloves."

"There
are no disguises in the faeries' land," came the quiet reply.

"I
remember nothing but your hands."

The
cloaked figure nodded.

"They
are very beautiful. And," she paused, looking into the shadow of Drew's
hidden countenance before adding, "gentle.

“Must
you hide them?"

Drew
hesitated, then answered in a strained voice, "The gloves are as much for
my sake as for yours, Angelique."

"Do
not hide your hands from me for either of our sakes, Drew."

There
was no reply. Then, "As you wish."

Magickally,
the black leather dissolved, and the warm silken skin of Drew's hands made her
gasp. She brushed her cheek against the softness and felt the tremor she caused
both of them. Her eyes were tender with concern, and earnestly she pressed,
"I am not like the others, Drew."

"I
know." Drew gripped Angelique's hand more firmly with one. "Last
night, when I found you had wandered into the faeries' mist, I feared I would
be too late." Whispering words, Drew pulled something from the air.
"Will you wear this for me?" Drew displayed a locket.

"Of
course."

It
was a thin piece, made of gold; the scrollwork, exquisite. Drew slipped behind
Angelique to fasten it about her neck. The chain felt delicate, but it held
tenaciously, and Angelique realized it was made by magick.

"It
is a talisman for your safety. If ever you are out of the palace and have need,
use this to summon me." Angelique pried the small catch open. Printed
inside in a delicate script were magick words that Angelique did not know.
"Hold it and call for me. I will know where to come."

"Will
it summon you even through the faeries' mists?"

"Through
fey dreams or mountain storms, it will reach me."

Angelique
nodded, shivering faintly at the memory of the faery world she had wandered
into. "Tell me," she said, "is it true I almost died that
night?"

Drew
nodded solemnly.

"But
how? Culdun told me his folk often dance with the faery folk and yet they do
not seem affected. I thought they chose to pass into the faery lands after
death."

"It's
not quite that simple, Angelique. The faery lands are part of death's
netherworld. The Old Ones have never been as limited to either this world or
that other as much as mortals are. They have always been welcome in both
places. When they came here after many years of exile, they found the faeries'
mist sought them out again. The mists ring their village now, hiding and
protecting it from poachers and wolves alike. For them, it is like a castle's
wall. As Culdun says, they walk among the faery folk freely, coming and going
until—"

"One
day the wine is too sweet and the dance too merry."

"Yes.
Then they merely stay. But you are mortal, Angelique. Any mortal who passes
through the misty boundary has very little time before the faery world claims
her forever. Most do not even understand where they are soon enough to
leave."

"I
think I understand," Angelique said. "With the wine and the music, it
seemed there was no need to hurry."

"And
I could not let you go so soon, my Lady."

There
was something in that voice which made Angelique reach out and grasp Drew's
hands again earnestly. "I did not want to die, Drew. I simply did not
understand that I was not to remain there. Until you arrived."

Drew,
releasing Angelique's hands, cupped her face tenderly. Angelique held her
breath as Drew came near, so close that Angelique could almost feel the sweet
caress of Drew's warm breath on her face.

The
dinner chimes rippled lightly.

Drew
started and jerked back to awareness. Angelique felt Drew's hand fall away from
her face and the tenderness was replaced with the familiar tension and
awkwardness. "Forgive my boldness. Dinner awaits."

Angelique,
nodding to hide the disappointment evident on her face, accepted the other's
arm silently. She reminded herself to move slowly. They had time.

The
sun sank toward the horizon, sending out long fingers of golden light that
seemed to play tag with the wind, which danced in lazy dips and swirls through
the high meadow grasses. The clouds, white and fluffy, sailed across a perfect
spring sky. Angelique sighed, stretching an arm leisurely above her head as the
fat old mare snorted and snuffled through another patch of clover.

She
lay on the broad, bare back of her mare, one foot dangling on either side. Her
skirts were comfortably ruffled up and not only were her petticoats showing,
but her knees as well. Angelique didn't care. She had dispensed with vest and
shoes altogether some time ago. Her hair was a tangled mess since she'd lost
one comb and magicked the other into mischievous oblivion. And if anyone had
asked, she would have gladly said she'd do it again.

It
was the type of day meant for nothing but daydreams. And Angelique, for perhaps
the first time in her entire life, had done just that.

At
her breast, she clutched a bouquet of wild flowers. A little magick had
persuaded them to forego wilting for a while longer, and they were the sum
total of her day's labors. After three months of learning spells and
industriously busying herself with embroidery patterns, history books and
riding lessons, Angelique had finally done exactly what Culdun had been urging
her to do for some time — nothing. And he'd even packed her a picnic lunch.

As
she lazed in the quiet sunshine, she drew the wild flowers close again,
relishing their delicate sweetness. And as the scent filled her, she remembered
sweetness of another kind. She shivered, recalling how, the evening before,
Drew's fingers had pushed through Angelique's thick hair and lingered, if only
for a moment, before slipping a comb back into place.

Then
those hands had fallen to her shoulders. Drew's slender fingers had hesitated,
before slowly dipping downward to find the fragile line of collarbone and
hollow at the base of her throat. She'd closed her eyes as Drew's hands moved
across her heart, leaving delicate lines of fire in their wake and a lingering
memory that she would turn over again and again in her mind as she had done
with all the others. Rut then the moment was over and Drew stepped away. There
were, however, a growing number of these moments, and it was Angelique's intent
to encourage a great many more.

She
had taken the initiative subtly, but persistently, since her rescue from the
faeries' mist. And when she'd discovered that Drew had difficulty denying her
small things, she vowed to use that fact to slowly work her way into Drew's
very being until they were completely entwined. Angelique knew the power her
own touch evoked, and the power Drew's touch awakened in her. It was a power
she was unashamedly using now to wear down Drew's stubborn resistance to mere
frustration. She coerced picnics, midnight races, long parlor talks, help with
her hair, help in dismounting.