Some Enchanted Waltz
Some Enchanted Waltz
By Lily Silver
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Copyright Lily Silver 2012
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Cover Art: Char Adlesperger @ romancenovelcovers.com
Dedication
:
Thank you to following people for helping with this project:
Special thank you to my husband, Dan; because you believe in me when no one else does. It is through your patience and devotion that I can believe in the power of True Love.
To Mary Grace Murphy; for your attention to detail and you help in proofing the final draft of this manuscript.
To Stacey Joy Netzel: for being an inspiration to me as an author, for always being there to answer questions and for leading the way in this brave new world of digital publishing.
And to the members of The Oconto Writer’s Group, for always being there as a positive influence to cheer me on in my writing adventures and continually challenging me to finish my manuscripts.
“At certain seasons of the year, Fairy Queens make Great Efforts to carry off the fine stalwart young men of the country to the fairy palace in the cleft of the hills. Or they attempt to lure them to their dancing grounds, where the men are lulled into dreams by the sweet, subtle fairy music and forget home, kith and kindred, and never desire to return again to their own people.
Even if the spell is broken and they are brought back by some strong incantation, they are never the same; for everyone knows by the dream look in their eyes that they have danced with the fairies on the hill, and been loved by one of the beautiful race, who, when they take a fancy to a handsome mortal lover, cast their spells over him with restless power.”
The Book of Irish Cures, Mystic Charms & Superstitions
By Lady Wilde, 1896
Southwestern coast of Ireland, 1798:
“Well, Lord Dillon? Do we set a wedding date or do I go to the authorities with information regarding your seditious activities?”
The January winds whipped Lord Dillon’s cloak behind him as he reined in his mount at the edge of the cliff.
Why had he agreed to meet this toadying loyalist
? Blackmailed into marriage, that was rich. And to the Sheriff’s troll faced daughter.
“I'm betrothed.” Dillon gave his enemy a steely glare. “I’ve told you, Burke. She will arrive by ship from America any day now.”
Thunder echoed in the distance, breaking the siren song of the waves far below.
“Ach. Still spewing that sorry tale? You’ve claimed the lass would arrive for months now. I’ll not be put off. My girl is waiting, and so is the magistrate in Cork.”
“And just why would the magistrate be interested in my marriage plans?”
“His interest is in those who feign loyalty to the crown by day while making mischief on the King’s Regiment under cover of darkness.” Sheriff Burke countered. “I’ll give him your name, Dillon.”
“How do you intend to convince him that a peer of the realm and a Member of Parliament, has thrown in his lot with highwaymen and thieves? I've told you, Burke, I’ve pledged my troth to another and I will not break it to satisfy your ambitions.”
“So be it.” Burke’s face reddened as he drew his own mount back from the cliffs. “You’ll dance for the hangman. Your fancy title will not spare you when I prove you are that hooded villain terrorizing the coast.”
The squat Sheriff kneed his mount and galloped across the open hillside, toward the small village of Glengarriff bordering Lord Dillon’s estates.
Dillon released a pensive sigh as he gazed out at the bay. Hardly a year had passed since the fates moved against them on this same Bay of Bantry, dashing the United Irishmen’s hopes of obtaining freedom for Ireland. Theobald Wolfe-Tone, their leader, had arrived with an armada of French troops sent by Napoleon himself to help drive the bloodthirsty English back across the sea from whence they came.
His loyalist neighbor across the bay, Richard White, used the incident to gain the title of Baron Bantry. White was given the title as a reward from the English crown for alerting the Cork Militia and banding men together to hold off the invasion until the English troops arrived. White’s efforts were not necessary as Nature ended the intended siege with a winter storm that lasted seventeen days.
Dark clouds swirled and churned where the ocean met the sky. As the wind assaulted him, Lord Dillon closed his eyes, offering up a faint prayer to the enchanted ones hiding in the evening mists. He’d spent many an hour in recent weeks searching the secret glens for a forest nymph, a sympathetic sprite, or even a mischievous one, as long as it proved agreeable to his request. Send him a bride, a fairy bride, to save his neck and still the tongues of accusation against him. Without their aid, he was a condemned man.
Oh, they came to him often in years past, those charmed creatures of the
Sidhe
race. He never needed to search for them. They appeared simply by his wishing for them. He was a child then, barely out of short dresses.
Now, when he needed them, they remained hidden and deaf to his pleas.
Northeastern Wisconsin, Present Day
“Tornado weather.” Tara breathed aloud as she looked up at the ominous sky. She decided to roll up her car windows as she exited the vehicle, in case the clouds opened up during her shift at the local radio station.
When Tara entered the 1960’s style brick building set in the middle of rural woodlands, she was met by the frowning station manager. “Tara, you’re here.” Roger’s forced cheerfulness wasn’t lost on her as he glanced at his watch. Yeah, she knew it; she was at least five minutes late. His shrewd eyes betrayed the feigned smile breaking through his trim blond beard. “We need to talk.”
“I have to run these scripts past The Gnome.” Tracy, the sassy morning show host who had been chatting with Roger hurried toward the steps leading to the second floor.
Roger escorted Tara into the Control Room. “We have severe weather warnings. If the Sheriff calls in a tornado sighting, you’ll have to go live immediately.”
Wasn’t that her luck? She would be here alone at the station until her relief came in at midnight. Tara nodded. She knew the protocol, as she’d worked here for three years, but that didn’t make any difference to the knots growing in her guts.
“If you have problems with the satellite or the transmitter, call Dan.” Roger said, reading her apprehension. “And The Gnome will be here until five thirty.” Roger added.
The Gnome
, or Steve, if one used his given name, was an innocuous old hippy. He was the station’s traffic controller. It was his job to approve every ad and jingle before it went on the air. Behind his back he was referred to as
The Gnome
because he looked like the little
Roaming Gnome
from the travel ads on TV, without the pointy hat, of course.
Tara snorted aloud.
‘Steve’ would be a lot of help in a storm
. Tara thought. He’d hide under a desk, as the radio station had no basement, leaving her to broadcast the weather warnings alone. He was a boring, nerdy type who only became animated when talking about alien abductions and Roswell conspiracy theories.
Yep, lots a help there!
Roger left her at her station in the control booth.
Tara set her backpack down and sat down and read the computer screen. The monitor blinked with little squares of purple or red, each square represented a program cued up to be played at various times. Tara’s main job was to sit at the console and press the appropriate boxes to play local ads during breaks from the national satellite broadcast. She would give local weather updates throughout the night as needed. It was a boring job, but it gave her plenty of time to work on her thesis paper as she monitored the computer screens. After the satellite broadcasts ended at ten p.m. Tara hosted the remaining two hours as a live DJ, playing her favorite songs and requests sent in by listeners. Meatloaf’s 1990’s ballad
, I’d Lie For You and That’s The Truth
was her calling card. She played it every night as an introduction to her show.
Tara left her desk and began shuffling through the long vertical rows of CDs on the wall opposite. She pulled the cases with her song selections for the night, added up the times and figured in commercial breaks. That done, she carried the stack of CDs to her desk at the computer to begin transferring the songs onto a program that would allow her to introduce each segment live, press fade, then play the queued sequence.
