Beware Faery Gifts
Prologue
PROLOGUE
Liquid harp notes floated down the wind, gentle as a dream. The faery lord listened with closed eyes as the music twined warmly around him. The harpist was a young mortal female, and she had played her haunting tunes in his wood many times. At first he had merely enjoyed the music. Then, when the winter chill kept her from the wood, he had realized how much more satisfying it would be to make the harpist his own. Then he would always have music.
When she returned to the wood in the spring, he had studied her and woven his plans. Today he would put them into motion. Impatient to begin, Ranulph of the Wood opened his eyes and set off toward the glade where the girl played her instrument with a power and passion that made the leaves and sunbeams dance.
At the edge of the glade, he paused in the shadows to study his quarry, Leah Marlowe. She sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, caressing the small Celtic harp like a lover as her fingers rippled out a tune that pierced the heart.
Slight of build with pale skin and straight brown hair, the girl was not a beauty even by mortal standards. Compared to a lady of Faerie, she was positively plain. Yet there was a sweetness about her, and she had a magical gift for music. He would have that sweetness and magic for himself. Beguiling her would be an easy task, for she was shy and lonely. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would have her in his gilded lair this very night.
He smiled at the thought, and prepared to step into the glade.
“Why don’t you leave the child alone?”
Jolted out of his reverie by the husky feminine voice, Ranulph whirled, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. A scant two yards away, a female of unearthly beauty lounged gracefully against an oak.
She was of Faerie, of course, for few mortals could see him until he revealed himself. But her complexion was dusky, not the snow-pale hue of the Folk, and silken hair of raven-wing black floated around her shapely form and cascaded to her heels. Her garb was as exotic as her person, a length of shimmering fabric that wrapped around her in a most revealing way, exposing one flawless shoulder and slim bare arms circled with dozens of gilded bangles.
Ranulph’s gaze went over her appreciatively. Even by the standards of Faerie, she was stunning. “What is your name? I’ve never seen a faery like you.”
“My name is Kamana.” She smiled with feline amusement. “Most assuredly you have seen no one like me, for none of my Folk have ever journeyed so far. I come from the other side of the world, from the land of Hind.”
“India!” Ranulph said, intrigued. “So Faerie extends even there?”
“Faerie is everywhere, for we are of nature, not man.” Kamana bent to pluck a sprig of woodruff, her bangles tinkling musically. “There are differences from land to land, of course. The mortals of Hind reflect us, just as your Anglish humans reflect you.”
“English,” he corrected.
“As you wish, my lord.” She crushed the woodruff stem, releasing a scent like new-mown hay. “And what is your name?”
“I am Ranulph of the Wood. How did you manage to come so far? Did you travel through Faerie?”
She shook her head. “No, for that is a dangerous shifting way, more perilous even than the lands of men.”
“Surely the mortal world was even worse!” he exclaimed, appalled. “Such great spans of desert and sea would be lethal to one of the Folk.”
“I traveled with a shipment of shrubs and flowers brought back by an Anglishman who had lived many years in Hind. Townley filled half a ship’s hold with his specimens, letting in the sunlight when the weather was fair. It was near enough to a garden for me to survive.” Kamana’s eyes, a shade of dark gold as unique as the rest of her, darkened to pure night. “For eight long months, I dwelt in that hold as the ship ran before the winds and rolled between the seas. I know now what human hell must be!”
Ranulph nodded, understanding how wretched such confinement would be for one of the Fair Folk. “Why did you undertake such a perilous passage?”
She shrugged, her garment shimmering with the iridescence of a butterfly wing. “From curiosity. For amusement.” Light sparked again in her slanted eyes. “For destiny, perhaps, Lord Ranulph.”
“Destiny!” he snorted. “In this land, we forge our own fates.”
“Or think you do,” she said cryptically. “In Hind, we know that all beings dance to the measure of the weaver of the web, whether they recognize that or not.” Her gaze went to the clearing, where the girl still played her harp, oblivious to the fact that she was observed. “The child plays exquisitely.”
“It’s hard to believe she is mortal,” he agreed.
Kamana’s eyes narrowed. “I suspect she has some faery blood in her. See the shimmer of magic when her fingers touch the strings?”
The cursed female was right. Irritated that she had seen what he had not, Ranulph said shortly, “Whatever her blood, soon she will be playing her music only for me.”
“You mean to ensorcel her?” Kamana arched her dark brows. “In Hind, we cannot bind a mortal unless he or she consents to be placed in our power.”
“The law is the same here.” His possessive gaze went to the girl again. “I shall offer her the dearest wish of her heart. She will accept, and soon she will be mine.”
Kamana frowned. “You shame yourself to enslave an opponent so unequal to you! She is but a child.”
“She will be my consort, not my slave,” he said brusquely.
A faint expression of distaste showed on Kamana’s exquisite face. “Among my Folk, it is considered…vulgar to take mortals for mates. Oh, lying with them is all very well—indeed, it’s a great pleasure. But for consorts, we keep to our own kind. Surely there are ladies of Faerie who would suit you better.”
“In this land the Folk are of two types, those who live in courts and celebrate together, and the solitaries, like me.” Voice clipped, Ranulph went on, “Oh, there are court ladies willing to come and share my bed for a night or two, but none would ever consider becoming consort to a solitary.” He knew that for truth, because more than once he had invited one of the gilded court ladies to share his life, and been laughed at for his trouble.
There was flicker of brighter gold deep in her eyes. Then she nodded gravely. “It is the same in my own land. But the price for a mortal to leave her own kind and dwell in Faerie is high.”
“So are the rewards.” He moved his hand impatiently. “Begone, lady of Hind! I’ve work to do.” He turned his back and moved into the glade. But behind him he heard laughter, and perhaps a trace of mockery.