Authors: Cindy Spencer Pape
So here she was, packing a suitcase while Ric sat on her bed and watched. She could tell by his edgy fidgeting that he was in a hurry, but unlike other men she’d known, he didn’t rush her, didn’t push. In fact, he hadn’t spoken a word except to answer direct questions since he’d followed her up the stairs.
“So did you really grow up in Wales?” She couldn’t help but wonder how much of what he’d told her was truth, how much was fiction.
“Sort of,” he grimaced, turned his face away from her gaze. “It’s kind of like overlapping dimensions, I guess. The world map is essentially the same, though and the place I was raised is analogous to the Welsh mountains.”
“So your people—they inhabit the entire world?”
“No, just the British Isles and parts of Western Europe. There are other races in other parts. Gnomes and trolls in Scandinavia, ogres in the Black Forest, djinn in the Middle East.”
Okay, that made sense, though the concept of an entire world populated by what she’d always considered fairytale creatures was—well—overwhelming. She packed her underwear, blushing as Ric watched with a heavy-lidded gaze.
Unfortunately, she’d been uninvolved for so long that most of her undies were of the practical cotton variety, though in a wide variety of colors. With the hope that she’d get the chance to model them for Ric, she did include her small selection of lacier stuff, blushing even more at his broad grin and raised eyebrow. Her body was still tingling from the best sex she’d ever had and the looks he was giving her said they weren’t through yet. If this was all a fantasy, she was pretty sure she didn’t want it to end. It helped, somehow, to know she could make him squirm. It made him seem more real, more “human,” she supposed. Which was weird, because sitting there on her pale blue bedspread, without his illusion of humanity, he looked so exotically handsome that she could barely keep her hands off him.
“So if this portal is in Grosse Pointe, does that mean we’ll end up in the Michigan of your dimension?” She had to get her mind off of sex and trying to figure out how this alternate reality thing worked was a pretty damn good distraction.
“No, the portals traverse distance as well as what you call dimensions. We’ll appear in the entry hall of Llyris’s palace.”
“Which is in Wales?”
“England, actually. Near Stonehenge, which is another portal, though a primitive one. Many of the standing stones in Europe are early portal markers.”
“I guess that makes sense. So you didn’t grow up at the palace, or whatever it is?” She wanted to know him, know everything about him. She could tell he hadn’t always had an easy life and all her repressed nurturing instincts were clamoring to comfort him somehow, ease the pain she glimpsed behind those glowing gold eyes.
“No, my father’s home was in the Welsh countryside. I lived there until his death. Then I moved to the palace.”
“I remember you said he died when you were young. How old were you?”
“Fourteen.” His response was curt, clipped.
“Ouch!” This was obviously an area he didn’t want to talk about, but probably needed to. Great, now she was Meagan the shrink. Well, it beat being Meagan the nosy bitch, she supposed. “I’m so sorry. How did he die?”
“He drank himself into a stupor, and walked off the edge of a cliff into the sea. At least that’s the preferred version. I’d rather think it was a drunken mishap than outright suicide.”
She had no idea how to respond to that except for a hug. Sensing that he didn’t want sympathy, she kept it quick and darted back to her closet. What did one wear to meet the queen of the fairies?
“I am not a fairy.” Ric growled when she asked. “Fae or elf are fine, but that other word has come to mean something far different in recent years.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I think I’ve proved rather conclusively that I’m straight.”
She turned her face to the closet, to hide yet another blush. She hadn’t been in enough relationships to be so open about discussing sex. She barely heard him move and jumped when she felt his hands on her shoulders, his lips brushing her temple.
“It doesn’t matter what you wear, Meagan. You’re beautiful in anything, even paint-covered jeans. I’m partial to the way you look without any clothes, but I’d rather you didn’t make Aidan’s eyes fall out of his head. He is your cousin, after all. Once we’re through the portal, anything you need will be provided. You’re quite a wealthy woman Underhill, you know.”
She leaned against him with a sigh, closing her eyes.
He felt so strong and solid against her back and it was so tempting to lean on him forever and let him be in control.
But Meagan had stood on her own two feet for too long and she wasn’t about to turn into a jellyfish simply because he’d rocked her world. After taking a moment to enjoy the feel of his strong, warm arms around her, his freshly showered scent overlaid with a hint of her lemon balm shampoo, she opened her eyes and pulled away.
“Seriously, Ric, what will this Queen Llyris expect? A business suit? Evening gown? Give me some help here, please!”
He stepped away, looking as annoyed as most men at being asked to ponder the intricacies of feminine garb. “A suit, I think. She goes in for the formal fantasy look, but she knows what’s going on in this world as well. She’ll recognize a business suit as a sign of respect, an indication that you take her seriously. And you need to take her seriously, Meagan. She’s a good ruler, but ruthless. If she thinks her kingdom would be better off with you dead, she won’t hesitate for a moment. Right now you’re her best hope to thwart Owain, but if anything changes her mind, you could be in serious danger and I really don’t want you to get hurt.” The concern in his expression warmed her heart.
“But you said I’m already in danger from Owain, right?”
He nodded, reaching for the suit she’d pulled from the closet. He laid the coral-colored linen carefully into the garment bag she’d left open on the bed, while Meagan rummaged for her bone leather pumps. This was her meet-with-buyers-and-gallery-owners suit and she’d never been gladder that she’d made the investment.
“I’ll do everything I can to protect you, of course. And Aidan will be in your corner, as well. He’s got a lot of clout at court and he was close to your father. You won’t be on your own.”
Meagan tossed pantyhose—
yuck
—and an ivory silk shell into her suitcase. Finally, she zipped it shut and flopped down on the bed. “This all takes a lot of getting used to, you know.”
“I know.”
She reached out a hand, traced his jaw, the line of his ear and felt him shudder when her finger brushed the tip.
She smiled shakily, let her hand fall back to her lap.
“Hard to believe we’ve only known each other for about twenty-four hours. I’m not usually like this, jumping into bed with someone so quickly.”
“I know that, too.” His voice was low and soft.
“There’s something special between us, Meagan. I don’t know what it is, but it matters. You matter. Whatever happens at court, whatever stories you hear about me, don’t let them get to you. I’m a lot of things, sweetheart, including the queen’s agent, a wandering musician and mostly a miserable bastard, but I give you my vow that I will never lie to you and I’ll never do anything to intentionally cause you harm.” He repeated some words in a strange and lilting language, the same one, she was sure, that he’d used while making love. Then he took her hand and looked into her eyes. “That’s an elven oath of fealty, a binding promise, on my honor and my life. As long as I live, anyone who tries to hurt you will have to go through me.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back.
Thank you
seemed kind of inadequate, so she didn’t know what to say. Acting on pure instinct she leaned forward and touched her lips to his, sealing his promise with a kiss.
Moments later she was flat on her back, crushed to the bed by Ric’s weight. His knee was wedged between her thighs and she was kissing him for all she was worth and running her hands up under his shirt. Nothing had ever felt more natural.
“Goddess, woman!” With a groan, Ric pulled himself off both Meagan and the bed. “Much as I’d like to keep you in bed for a fortnight, we don’t have time.” He grimaced and adjusted himself inside his jeans.
Meagan watched, licking her lips at the sight of his erection straining against the butter-soft denim. One word went through her brain and she barely stopped herself from saying it out loud. She knew this relationship was probably only temporary, but for however long it lasted, the only word she thought of when she thought about Ric’s considerable endowments was a simple, primitive,
mine
.
His erection grew even further, almost as if he’d heard what she was thinking. “Love, if you keep staring at that, it’s going to overpower my brain, be out of my trousers and inside of you faster than you can blink. We need to get to Aidan’s, catch him up on what’s going on. But I promise there’ll be time later to make use of that lovely guestroom. We aren’t going to deal with Llyris till tomorrow. Tonight you’re all mine.”
“Right.” She pushed her hair out of her face and scrambled to her feet. Ric picked up her suitcase, while Meagan grabbed the garment bag and her purse, oversized to accommodate a sketchbook, and followed him down the stairs. He loaded the bags and the cat carrier into his car while she locked her front door. He held open the passenger door of the Jag, dropping a kiss on her hair as she slid into her seat.
She looked back at her house. Would she ever see it again? When he climbed in beside her, he must have sensed her mixed emotions, because as the powerful engine purred to life, he reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s only a visit, love. You’ll be back before you know it, with none of your neighbors the wiser.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, turning her neck for one last look as they turned the corner. “I have this really weird feeling that it will never be home again.”
Aidan met them at his front door when they arrived, his features taut with what she supposed was anticipation. Ric’s call as they drove had been cryptic at best. All he’d said was that he and Meagan were on their way. He didn’t mention the birthmark or anything like that, but she knew that Aidan, or Lord Green Oak, or whatever his real name was, had to be wondering. According to Ric, he’d been looking for her for ages.
As she walked up to the door she couldn’t help staring at Aidan and looking for a resemblance. It was there, she decided, in the reddish tint to his dark brown hair and his bright green eyes. She was a whole lot shorter and plumper, but she fancied that she could see traces of herself in the angular planes of Aidan’s face.
“Ric.” Aidan’s acknowledgement was curt, perfunctory. His eyes never left Meagan’s, just as hers were glued to him. His intense regard was a little intimidating, so she reached for Ric’s hand, grateful for his supportive presence beside her. Aidan’s gaze didn’t miss the gesture, or Ric’s protective stance. One eyebrow arched, but he didn’t say a word.
Meagan smiled weakly at her cousin as he stepped aside, gesturing for them to precede him into the foyer.
Muted sounds from down the corridor reminded her that the house party was still in progress and that it had only been hours since she’d been here before.
Aidan led the way to the library and beyond into what was obviously his private office, his inner sanctum.
Meagan dimly registered the oak paneling, Persian carpet and other luxurious appointments surrounding her.
All her focus was on the two men who flanked her like a rock star’s entourage.
“Sit.” Aidan gestured at a grouping of three leather club chairs that curved around a massive stone fireplace.
Despite the August heat outside, the room was cool and a fire flickered cheerfully in the hearth. At an encouraging nudge from Ric, Meagan sat in the center chair and Ric pulled one of the outer chairs closer, so he was seated well within her reach. Aidan poured three snifters full of a thick amber liquid from a sparkling crystal decanter and handed one to each of them before seating himself in the third chair. He swirled his glass, took a long swallow and swirled the remaining liquid again, while Ric sipped his own drink and Meagan waited.
Finally, Aidan looked up at Ric and spoke. “Well?”
Ric nodded. Meagan watched as the two men faced off, each eyeing the other warily. “It is over, Aidan. You can stop searching, stop wondering. She has the mark.”
“As her cousin, I suppose I should ask how you found it, but I probably don’t want to know.” He turned to smile at Meagan. “Welcome to the family, my dear.”
“Thanks.” Needing an anchor, she reached out a hand to Ric. The firm warm clasp of his fingers around hers helped steady the overwhelming turbulence of her emotions.
Aidan frowned at Ric, narrowing his eyes. “My thanks, bard. Apparently I should have asked for your help some thirty years ago.”
Ric didn’t appear to be bothered. If anything, he slouched into his chair and held Meagan’s hand even more tightly, as he gave his head a slow, negligent shake.
“Aidan, you know perfectly well that I’d have helped any time you’d asked, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think it would have worked. Fate had more to do with finding her than any skills or magic of mine. The cloaking spell on her is some of the strongest magic I’ve ever encountered. I’d have never been able to penetrate it. Perhaps now is simply the right time.”
Aidan nodded slowly and reached across to clasp Ric’s hand in a brief, conciliatory gesture. “You’re probably right and I still owe you my thanks. Rest assured, Meagan, I am delighted that you’ve been found at last. Anything you need or want, anything I can do, you’ve only to ask.”
Meagan looked back and forth between the two men, who were both suddenly so important in her life. She knew Aidan was offering her a blank slate, including wealth beyond her wildest dreams, but all she really needed now was information.
“There’s so much more I want to know,” she said, studying Aidan’s lean, unlined face, framed by the tiniest flecks of silver in his hair. She guessed he was in his early forties. “You don’t look much older than me. How can you have possibly known my father?”