Chapter 19
Nineteen
And so, on Lammas Day, the shepherd and I did set out for his father’s home. The Veil between the worlds lay open; on the one side, all the splendors of Faery. On the other side, the human realm.
And me.
This time was different. I was not the girl who just lost the only mother she knew. Not the daughter expelled from her home with no way to provide for herself. I was a woman grown with useful skills. Valued. Respected. Dare I say it?
Loved.
Faery called, stronger than the Dark Fool’s piping, than the shore does a drowning man, but I was not yet done with the mortal realm.
The shepherd king belonged to me. We would not be parted, even at the invitation of his father and lord.
Since the night I saved his life, we were bound together, a bond no earthly power might tear asunder, and maybe not a fae one, either.
So deep was Thomas’s affection, I did not need to beguile him like a leannan sith does the poet or harper, feeding off his gifts and bleeding him dry.
I need not play the love-talker, like the Amadan Dubh, to rob him of his wits and bend him to my will.
And yet I had.
I had clouded Thomas’s mind after saving him from the wolf, ordinary beast and ordinary woman all he recalled.
If he suspected my true nature, would Thomas flee in fear, or fend me off with iron and the sign of the cross?
’Twas impossible to know. But this much was certain: He would never see me the same way again.
There were dread powers inside me, the breadth and nature of which I did not yet understand. They awed me and yet frightened me, for I still could not say what manner of fae I truly was.
And I could not forget the empty look in Thomas’s eyes.
But today his gaze was sharp as ever, and his manner lively, as he made arrangements for us to travel to the manor house.
The Douglas boy would again take charge of the sheep, and Cullen would sleep in their stable for the time being.
Quite a parting had taken place between master and dog, with much whining on the part of one, and many reassurances, embracing, and ruffling of fur from the other.
“He has been with me since I was a boy,” Thomas explained. “When I had no family and scarce any home of my own, one of the baron’s vassals did give him to me, so I would not be lonely. We have scarce been parted since.”
I put my hand on his arm. “I hope it will not be for long.” And Thomas had me now. He need never be lonely, for I would not allow us to part.
He nodded, and we set out.
The baron had provided no mounts, for which I was grateful, being afraid of their iron-shod hooves and not knowing how to ride.
Thomas, however, grumbled bitterly, as the journey would take us the better part of the day, traveling by foot beneath the late summer sun.
We would follow the Yarrow Water to the north and west for a third of our journey, then cut across to the public road for the rest where, Mab willing, we would not be set upon by highwaymen, or worse. We had not anything for them to take.
Beneath the call of birdsong, a flute played, high and sweet, and every tree we passed seemed to hide a devilish handsome face. Amadan Dubh. Did he follow us? Resent I did not return to Faery with the thinning of the Veil? And what need had I for his good opinion anyway?
He had endangered Thomas already. If he had promised he would not threaten the shepherd’s life, he was a trickster, and his words held as much water as a torn sieve.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” I asked Thomas.
“I must relieve myself.” Without waiting for a response, I ducked into the forest, crossing a carpet of bracken, and making my way towards the Yarrow Water, where my voice would be muffled by the rushing current.
It panged me, but I did not wish Thomas to overhear.
My relationship with the Dark Fool was my own business, not his.
“Show yourself, Fool,” I hissed, beneath the lapping of the water. “For I know you must be somewhere about.”
“You command me,” he said, sliding out between two juniper trees, “as if the Fool were not known to be second in power only to the Faery Queen herself.” He’d adorned himself all in goldenrod, velvet dripping off his shoulders like falling leaves.
Gold gleamed in the tips of his jet-black curls, and a tiny golden hoop pierced one pointed ear.
Almost it did hurt my eyes to behold him.
But I refused to look away. “We are not in Faery now.”
“No,” Amadan agreed. “You venture farther from Faery than you know, little changeling.” For all his ridiculous splendor, there was again something of a pensive mortal in his manner. “I wonder if you are prepared for what you will find.”
At the manor house, he means. But I had Thomas with me, to show me around and help should I be confused. He would not let me down. “I am not afraid.” I stood straight, lips pursed, chin raised.
“You should be.” Amadan placed his hand on my shoulder, and for once I didn’t notice how ungainly long his fingers were; his touch did not slide over me, beguiling and repulsive at the same time.
It was simply warm. “The manor house will be full of knights. Do you know how much iron they carry? There may be a chapel in the manor house itself. Are you prepared?”
I frowned. “I am afraid of nothing, with the shepherd by my side.” And if I sounded like a lovesick mortal girl, still I meant what I said.
Amadan’s face looked troubled. “Go into the garden. If it becomes too much, the mortality around you seems to choke you, and you need to get away. Go when no gardeners are working, stirring the soil with their metal tools. Go alone, preferably at the between times, dusk or dawn. There you may take comfort among your own people.”
“Why are you helping me?” I blinked at him. “And why should I trust you? You attacked the shepherd once already.”
Amadan’s eyes and voice went soft, his scent tickled forth, delicate on the breeze. “But have I ever endangered you?”
Would you ever dare? We locked gazes, like predator and prey, but I could not have said who was which.
The shepherd’s call rang out, breaking the tension between us. “Bess! Have you gotten lost, wood nymph? We should delay no further.”
Amadan’s face twisted into a horrific grimace. “You value him overmuch, little changeling. He is a mere mortal, far less than you deserve.”
Yet he is what I desire. My lips parted, but the Fool turned as if into himself, curling into a bar of light, which then disappeared.
I stared at the bright image left in his wake until it faded, then I went to join Thomas again.
When the sun had climbed directly overhead, we paused for a meal. I had packed a basket with bread and cheese, apples plucked ripe from the tree. We paused to sup at a clearing in the woods, with the bluebells rampant around us and the thrum of magic in my veins.
“The wilderness does become you,” Thomas observed. “You seem to glow.”
I raised my hand in front of me, radiant like the rays of the sun.
Stop that, I told it, and it did, but I could not still the harvest readiness around and within me, its fruitfulness surging like nectar through my veins.
I barely stopped myself from taking the shepherd right there and then, giving our fertility back to the land as we made love like Venus and her Adonis, Endymion and his lunar queen.
I bit into my apple and said not a word.
In the midafternoon, the woods parted around us, and we finally reached the town of Peebles, where the baron’s manor stood.
The sweet elixir of autumn retreated, to be replaced by a foul, metallic taste in my mouth.
I could not immediately determine its source.
I had scarce been out of my own village, except to purchase goods at the market cross, but this village looked little different than our own.
The buildings came to the same height, and were made of the same materials, though a greater number of them had stone footings.
The people who crossed our path appeared ordinary folk as well, though more of them had weapons than I was used to, like the knife on that one’s belt.
The greater the population of a town, the greater the need for protection, I supposed.
Protection meant cold iron. I stifled a hiss, like a sizzling pan over the hearth.
Come away from the iron, the cross, and the salt, sang the voice of Faery, and I clutched at my head.
“Bess?” Thomas asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head and swallowed roughly. “I feel so far from home.”
Thomas squeezed my shoulders. “God willing, we will be back there ere long.”
As we approached the Baron de Lyne’s manor, the buildings became sturdier, a greater number of the houses built of actual stone. Imagine, living in a house that did not need repair or rebuilding every four or five years! Luxury I could hardly comprehend.
Thomas bit his lips thoughtfully as we passed these by, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Here do live some of the baron’s family,” he said. “His sister and her husband; his cousin, the reeve.” He swallowed. “Here but for the nature of my birth I might have dwelt as well.”
The cuckoo now saw the nest which should have been his, as surely as I had stared through the hollow tree and into Faery. My heart bled for him, and everything he had lost. I took hold of his hand, and he brought mine to his lips and kissed it.
Soon we passed by the lands of the baron’s demesne, wherein villeins and crofters of all sorts, from the youngest children to the hoariest elders, worked to harvest the baron’s wheat. Some cut the wheat with sickles, while others followed behind to bind it in sheaves and set them to dry.