The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (11 page)

He thought he’d outsmarted her, locked her in with no way out. But this was her strength. Hedges, even bespelled hedges, should respond to her call.

Trina hesitated before planting her feet firmly in the dirt. The thought that she should do a protective circle crossed her mind. She hadn’t done one in the forest, with dire consequences. Did she have time now?

Logan could be back at any moment. She needed a head start. She decided to take the risk and opened her inner sight first, just to be sure. The clearing and the hedge had the typical green glow of natural live growth, but there was a fresh tint of bright blue covering the hedge. Logan had done something to it. There was something else, something older that had grown into the land’s natural magics and become almost one with it. She didn’t have time to fool with it now. It was old and designed to keep the forest out, not to keep anyone restrained within.

Her head still ached from earlier, and she was scared. What if that presence was here? She shook herself. She didn’t have a choice. This might be her only opportunity for escape.

Trina wiggled her toes in the dirt and opened herself up to the clearing.

Soft green power flowed into Trina and she sighed. This was more like it. The clearing’s energy crept in where she invited it, melding with her own Gift and giving her ample power to wield into a spell. She directed it at the hedge, sending out a questing tendril to find the hidden entrance.

Her power eagerly did her bidding. The reluctant thorns and leaves quivered as they withdrew and revealed the passage into the forest. She entered the space between the leaves and, in the middle of the wide hedge’s protective thorns, breathed a silent thank you and let the power drain back into the ground. She peered out into the dark brooding forest’s depths. The path was there, waiting for her to take an unguarded step.

Trina swallowed. It was now or never.

Leaving the safety of the hedge, she stepped into the cold dank forest. Her bare feet touched the soft mulch of the forest floor and instantly, the aggressive power pushed against her skin, demanding to get back inside her and use her as a conduit.

The hairs on her arms rose.

She wasn’t about to let it in, let it take over. If it happened a second time, she wasn’t sure she would be able to get the forest to relinquish control. Fighting the hungry power down, she took another step. Sweat gathered under her arms as the pressure on her skin grew. She lifted her foot to take one more shaking step, one more bid for freedom.

Chapter Six

She couldn’t do it.

Trina turned back and stumbled into the safety of the warm, sunny clearing. The insidious pressure stopped. The opening in the hedge sealed closed behind her as if it had never been and she sank to the grass in exhausted frustration.

She was trapped. For now. So she’d better quit wasting time and figure out another plan or she’d be stuck cleaning for the elf and dealing with his arrogance for the next year. She rose to her feet, dusted off her knees, and began to explore. Behind the cottage, she discovered a circle of low grass, complete with a flat rock in the center and four smaller ones set at the cardinal points. Someone had planted this years ago, planned and dreamed over what was now an overgrown ritual area, perfect for a single witch.

Perched on the rock, Trina closed her eyes and drew deep within to center. This time, she erected proper wards. She needed to know if the clearing was as benign as it seemed, if there was anything she could use to escape. It might not be today, but there would be an opportunity to go. And when that time came, she would be ready.

She cast her senses out and explored her surroundings using small, tentative wisps of power.

Nothing negative in the clearing. No indications that boggarts, pixies, or any magical creatures were hidden in it or the cottage. Not what she’d expected for a magical forest. But there was something here, something that teased the edges of her magic with a whisper of a presence. Traces of that old, underlying power she’d sensed when she first entered the clearing. It didn’t feel hungry, like the forest, more sad and lonely. Taking a deep breath, she settled deeper into her trance.

Extending a root-like tendril of her Gift deep within the earth, she encountered a small surprise. One of the ley lines of energy that crisscrossed the earth like a network of rivers had been wrought into a small pool in order to feed spells set in place hundreds of years before. The spells had been running on auto-pilot, drawing energy from the node that kept them alive.

Spells that kept the well water sweet, the magical hedge in place, the good in and bad out. Spells that should have kept the buildings up but must be weakening because the old wood showed signs of age and rot.

Trina used her Gift to trace along the benign spells that fed off the pool and twined through the cottage and the clearing. Allowed to run unhindered, the spells had developed a strong, unified personality that communicated, in broad pulses of vibrant color, their excitement at having someone here to help them maintain the cottage and, in return promised to take care of her.

She settled back and pushed on one of the spells. It pushed back, with an exuberant puppyish energy. Trina jumped in surprise, lost her balance, and fell off the rock, landing hard on the grass and knocking her out of working mode. She caught her breath. The sun seemed brighter, the grass greener, and the air fresher. The power in the clearing had fed her depleted energy. Her headache and muscle aches were gone and exhilaration sang in her blood. She was ready take on a challenge.

She hopped off the rock and wiggled her toes in the verdant, green grass. She was stuck here until she could find a way to leave. It was time to get to work and earn her keep before the elf changed his mind and turned her over to the queen. Or decided to kill her.

Night had taken over the forest. Logan rode through the gap in the hedge and into a pool of light spilling out of the cottage windows in a sign that all was well. Tension he hadn’t even been aware of left him in a rush, leaving his bones weak.

“That was a waste of time.” Solanum lifted his head and sniffed the air, widening his nostrils much larger than Logan wanted to see. “I hope the witch has something good on the stove.”

“Solanum, you are not invited for dinner.” Logan dismounted, releasing all but two of the hounds to melt off into the dark to hunt for their suppers. He’d secured a perimeter, but given the forest’s perilous nature, the security was uncertain.

“What do you mean I’m not invited for dinner? I’ll put on the form of a handsome young laddie.” Solanum waggled his pointed ears. “She won’t even know it’s me.”

“No.”

“Afraid I’ll steal her from you?”

Logan stilled the quiver of jealousy. If the puca saw it, there was no doubt he would find it a challenge. “You can’t bait me into inviting you in, Solanum.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched. “She’s trying to hide it, but I know the look of a lass who’s hungry for me.” And he was hungry for her. Her secretive eyes, soft skin, and the sensual swing of her hips set him afire.

“Hungry for a man, not you. I’d do.” The puca posed, curving his muscles into tight bunches, the light gleaming off of his satin hide. “They all want me when they see me. She’d be no different.”

“She’s not yours. She’s mine.” Logan savored the strange taste of the word
mine
on his tongue, the surprising satisfaction, and the fast following rush of fear.

“So fuck her and dump her. We have other things to do.”

“I need her. The queen is hiding something and the witch is the key. If I raped her, what the hell kind of cooperation do you think I’d get from her?” He shook his head at the puca and his idea of morality and slapped Solanum on the rump. “Off with you, I have a witch to seduce.”

“Spoiler.” The puca pulled his horse face into a caricature of a pout. “I’ll have to hunt for my dinner like the hounds. You should provide better for me, you know.”

He swished his tail and shifted into the form of a huge, black wolfhound, double the size of Logan’s large red hounds. The remaining two hounds whined in Logan’s head and pressed against his leg.

“Some home you’ve brought her to. You’d better watch your back or I’ll be taking her off your hands. She’d provide a nice bit of amusement before she wore out.” Solanum wheeled off, his howl of laughter echoing in the dark.

Logan frowned. If Solanum became intrigued by the idea of seducing the witch, Logan would have more to deal with than just losing a good lay. He knew when he saw her, the witch held the key to his freedom from the queen. Nothing would stand in the way of his putting her to good use.

He put the problem of the puca aside and approached the worn out cottage, his cock growing hard with anticipation of seeing the woman inside. The
hiebernieth
had held his needs at bay, but he’d been in the dungeons a while before the oubliette. He tried to remember back to the last woman he’d fucked. Some party with the prince, before the fiasco at court had taken them all down.

The old steps sagged under his weight. He should have known from his uncle’s snickering that the cottage would have problems. But beggar that he was, he’d no other place to take her. At least, not one where he was assured he wouldn’t be killed by the queen’s men while taking his pleasures.

And there was no way he would stay with his womanizing uncles. Seven good-looking, lonely, isolated men who hadn’t kidnapped her, threatened to kill her, and turn her over to the queen. She’d flee to one of them in a heartbeat, and he would be out his prize. No hold over the queen, nothing to offer his liege, and no woman to warm his bed.

The odd fierce possessiveness uncoiled, manifesting in a driving need to be inside of Trina. To taste her lips. To have her naked and willing and thrusting under him, begging for more.

His fists balled. He wasn’t sharing his prize. Out here, falling down cottage or not, she would be his and his alone. Screw Solanum and his uncles. He deserved a few moments of pleasure.

Logan exhaled and struggled to calm his lust. Hand on the corroded brass latch, he stared at the sliver of new moon in the sky. Someday, he’d be able to relax, maybe keep a woman for longer than a few days. Someday, when the prince was safe and the queen somehow had forgotten his very existence.

Not tonight.

Tonight he had a witch to seduce. What he’d told the puca was true. She wanted him. She simply hated him, too.

He sighed, lifted the latch, and stepped into the cottage. The ample smell of dinner struck a sudden sharpness in his hollow belly. The formerly abandoned room was warm with lantern light. Dirty covers had been removed from the couch. The dust was gone. The brass bed stood tall in the corner, made up with new sheets, and he swore he could smell the fresh scent of lavender from the door.

The room blurred, the lantern light grew bright, and for a moment, it was all real.

This was his cottage, his home, his woman turning to welcome him with open arms and soft breasts. The cottage offered him a gift, an illusion that shimmered in the warm lantern light. A soundless voice breathed that it could all be his, if he wanted it. Sudden, desperate need crowded Logan’s chest.

And then the beautiful woman with the smear of dust on her perfect pale cheek opened her mouth. “Oh, you’re back.”

And the illusion shattered.

The pressure in his chest swelled, then died. He could breathe again.

He blinked as the lantern light dimmed, the illusionary glow fading. His captive shot him a disgusted look. Pursing her lips, she deposited a plate of roast chicken on the small kitchen table with a distinct and weighty thump. She’d piled her hair on top of her head, leaving the nape of her neck and the slope of her collarbone exposed. Heated and angry, her green eyes sparked, her skin flushed. And his cock swelled.

Damn, this was going to be a long meal.

“You have superior skills. I bow to you, my lady.” He swept into his best court bow. As he rose, her narrowed eyes pinned him in place, one small bare foot tapping on the clean boards of the wooden floor.

“I just wanted you to know I’m holding up my end of the bargain, so you’d better hold up yours. This place is a dump, but it’s livable for now. I worked my ass off. No magic involved.”

“You’ve accomplished a miracle.”

“The food is ready, water for washing is in the bowl, and I’m not waiting anymore.” From across the room, her stomach growled.

He crossed to the dry sink and she skittered out of his way, leaving the fresh scent of herbs in the air. He hid his grin. The cottage might want them to be a couple, working its wiles in an attempt to get them to stay and inhabit it, but he was going to have to work at seducing his witch. So be it. He would play the game. His blood surged in anticipation.

Despite his urgent need to tear her dress off, spread her thighs, and take her on the floor, he would use persuasion. He didn’t want a bitter, angry woman sleeping in his house, wherever that might be, for the next year. As she leaned over to take fresh, steaming rolls out of the oven, her ripe breasts spilled over her low-cut dress. He swallowed and hoped he could hold out long enough to achieve her willing capitulation.

He pulled one of the chairs out from the table and waited for his trout to swim into the net. “Milady?”