

### Contents

Prince in the Mist

What would she think when she discovered he was a Royal Fae?

Also by Claudy Conn

What reviewers are saying about Claudy's books

Copyright Page

Dedication

~ Prologue ~

~ One ~

~ Two ~

~ Three ~

~ Four ~

~ Epilogue ~

Excerpt: Prince Prelude

~ Prologue ~

~ One ~

~ Two ~

Excerpt: Shee Willow—Legend

~ Prelude ~

~ Prologue ~

~ One ~

~ Two ~

Excerpt: ShadowHeart—Slayer

~ Prologue ~

~ One ~

About Claudy Conn

More about Claudy Conn's Books

Prince in the Mist

What would she think when she discovered he was a Royal Fae?

Breslyn stood at Chartelle's closed bedroom door. The time was late, and he believed she was asleep; however, that did not deter him as he moved to open the door. But then, suddenly, he stopped.

It was in that moment he hesitated with doubt, a flaying doubt that suddenly and totally assailed him and kept him frozen in place. Was he moving too quickly... would he frighten her when she realized what he really was? For she was a discerning creature that would eventually see the alien in his ancient eyes. She would see him for who he really was before he was ready for her to do so. What would she think when she discovered he was a Royal Fae?

He banished this concern, and instead of stepping forward he boldly shifted, Fae-style, into her chamber, as though a part of him wanted to let her see, acknowledge, and get it over with...

She was awake and tossing about under the covers, unaware of his presence. He watched her a moment, in awe of her beauty in the moonlight from the undraped windows. She threw the covers off, and he felt his raging hard-on throb in his leather trews. With a blink, his clothes were gone, relegated to the floor. He stood naked, hungry.

What was it about this human woman that made him shiver with a desire he could not remember ever feeling before? Beautiful, exquisite Fae females had enticed and held his interest and passions over the thousands of years that he had lived, but this was... different. What was it about this human that curled his ardor into a tight coil ready to spring? No Fae female had ever wrung out such primal sensations from him before, and Fae females were skilled in the art of making love.

She moved something inside him to 'feel and experience' sensations he had not hitherto been aware he was capable of experiencing. Something wild and yet sweetly entrenched in her heart drew on him... called to him...

Such emotions were nonsense, and yet, it was a fact he could not deny. He felt feral as he gazed at her and waited for her to see him...

Also by Claudy Conn

Legend Series

Aaibhe—Shee Queen (Novelette)

Prince Prelude—Legend

Spellbound—Legend

Shee Willow—Legend

Trapped—Legend

Free Falling—Legend

Catch & Hold—Legend

~

Time Series

Through Time-Pursuit

~

Shadow Series

ShadowLove—Stalkers

ShadowHeart—Slayer

ShadowLife—Hybrid

~

Risqué Regencies

Oh, Cherry Ripe (free)

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

Taffeta & Hotspur

Myriah Fire

~

DarkLove ( _published by Wild Rose Press_ )

What reviewers are saying  
about Claudy's books

5 out of 5 stars

Fanning the flames of Myriah Fire!

What was once an innocent, if rollicking, regency romance has exploded with passion as Claudy Conn revisits Myriah Fire to turn up the heat.

The addition of unbridled sexual passion to Myriah Fire's strong story brings dimensions of maturity and depth to the struggles faced by Myriah and Kit, without diminishing any of the innocence, joy or charm found in the original story. This revised version of Myriah Fire allows Claudy's regency followers to appreciate what her paranormal romance fans have discovered—mind-bending eroticism.

A truly captivating tale with a blast of added sizzle, Myriah Fire will kindle the flames of your heart and burn up the night.

~ Vonnie Faroqui, _Ink Slinger's Whimsey_

Love, love, love Myriah Fire!

It's a brilliant, fast-paced, and 'true to its title', 'going to catch you on fire' romance. Looking forward to more! Hoping Claudy Conn plans to share more of her historical treasures with us.

~ Candice Stauffer, author

Myriah has always been my favorite

This is a sweet, funny, charming romance. The characters are likeable and the story is well told. I loved all of the Claudette Williams (now Claudy Conn) books, but this one has always been my favorite. I hope she will put out more of her backlist.

~ lmjolicoeur on _Smashwords_

ShadowLove—Stalkers is hot, Hot, HOT

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ is filled with steaming action and dramatic tension... Claudy delicately plants the seeds for future development and characters without distracting from the excitement and romance of Stalkers. The result is that she has a paranormal, vampire series, of romance novels, which carries her own unique and spicy aroma.

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ is hot, Hot, HOT... and yes, I am blushing.

~ Vonnie Faroqui, _Ink Slinger's Whimsey_

Five Cups and a CTTR (Coffee Time Reviewer's Recommend) Award

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ is a story that immediately hooks the reader. It reminds me of a roller coaster just beginning, only to plunge into speed, drawing the reader into non-stop action. Intense and spellbinding, this paranormal romance kept this reader engrossed until the conclusion. I loved the passion and chemistry between the main characters. With tremendous action and well thought out characters, this fantastic read sizzles and sparks like a firecracker.

~ _Coffee Time Romance & More_

Trapped Legend has my pulse skyrocketing!

A clever, fast paced, unpredictable blend of action, adventure, mystery, magic and steamy hot loving... I picked it up and couldn't tear myself away from it until I read the last page.

I highly recommend each book in Claudy's Legend series. You're seriously missing out on some wonderful adventures if you haven't read the previous stories. It's by far one of the most exceptionally crafted, enchanting Fae series I've ever read.

~ Candice Stauffer, author

Five Stars for ShadowHeart—Slayer

This second in Conn's Shadow series is filled with vampires, a vampire slayer, demons, wizards, a Fae prince and an unlikely romance. Claudy Conn does an excellent job of making this a standalone story while incorporating some of the characters from the first book and introducing us to several new characters. The war is still brewing and now the fae are becoming involved. Can't wait for the next book in the series.

This is another one I couldn't put down and read in a single sitting. I got so caught up in the action I was sad to see it end. Fans of the paranormal romance, urban fantasy and vampire genres should enjoy this as well.

~ Wild About Bones _on GoodReads_

One hot and thrilling book

I fell for all three of the main characters, fun loving Maxie, dark and brooding Julian, and one hot Fae, Breslyn. However, it wasn't just the characters that kept me on the edge of my seat, it was the entire involved plot that included jealously, betrayal, magic, murder, and, of course, hot passion... The well-written out mixture of myth and legend, not to mention the characters, all in today's world has me Joyfully Recommending _Spellbound—Legend_ as one book you won't want to miss.

~ Jo, Joyfully Reviewed

### Prince in the Mist

By

### Claudy Conn

Copyright Page

Prince in the Mist

By Claudy Conn

http://www.claudyconn.com

Copyright © 2011, 2012 by Claudy Conn

Edited by: Karen Babcock

Cover Artist: Kendra Egert

All rights reserved

Published in the United States of America

First edition, November 2011

Second edition, August 2012

Smashwords Edition

August 2012

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Names, characters, and events depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Excerpt of _Prince Prelude_

Copyright © 2012 by Claudy Conn

Excerpt of _Shee Willow—Legend_

Copyright © 2011 by Claudy Conn

Excerpt of _ShadowHeart—Slayer_

Copyright © 2011 by Claudy Conn

Discover this and other titles by Claudy Conn at Smashwords.com:

Legend Series

_Aaibhe—Shee Queen_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/110252>

_Prince in the Mist_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/104045>

_Prince Prelude—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/159840>

_Spellbound—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96103>

_Shee Willow—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/103389>

_Trapped—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/112028>

_Free Falling—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92368>

_Catch & Hold—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/124602>

Time Series

_Through Time-Pursuit_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/210166>

Shadow Series

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/63037>

_ShadowHeart—Slayer_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/84350>

_ShadowLife—Hybrid_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/143173>

Risqué Regencies

_Oh, Cherry Ripe_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/135532>

_Myriah Fire_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/109011>

_Ruges, Rakes & Jewels_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/171997>

_Taffeta & Hotspur_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/179452>

Dedication

To the man who makes me shiver—Bob Conn

Life is eternal, and love is immortal,

and death is only a horizon;

and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

Rossiter Worthington Raymond

~ Prologue ~

### Rule Breaking!

IF YOU HAVE read the _Legend_ books, then I need no introduction, but for those of you who haven't, I will give you a brief description of who and what I am.

I am a Royal Fae Prince of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. I am a Council member (although I rarely attend the boring meetings). I am, as a Seelie Fae, well over six feet six inches and taller than most male Fae, who are as a race quite unusually tall and warrior built.

My dark blond hair is long, and I usually slick it back and keep it tethered at the back of my neck with leathers. My eyes are silver, my face chiseled and, I have been told, very handsome.

I wear a gold torque with the etchings of my Royal House, Dagda. I like tattoos and wear a band of Celtic knots and ancient runes around my biceps.

What is really important is this: I adore humans, especially female humans.

That gets me into all kinds of trouble with my Queen Aaibhe, who feels my interactions with humans are a break from our treaty and an infringement on the rules of Destiny.

I can't help it—and I don't want to. I have discovered a passion for watching humans, but it wasn't until Robert of Bruce began to take hold of Scotland that I became involved...

Ah, but those were wild, hot times, just like I like them.

And the women—ah, _and the women_!

It is our law, an important part of our written Treaty with Man, that we shall not interfere in any way with humans. However, I am a firm believer that rules... need to be broken when they interfere with what is important. I choose to be the arbitrator of what is important.

I am well over ten thousand years old. Looking back, I can see how I have grown and changed, and after some convincing, I agreed it might be amusing to record how I have come to this present time and place...

So much of our history with man dates back to the time of the Great Wars in our beloved Danu. We allowed our fury to take center stage, and in the end, Danu was destroyed.

It is said by man that the Fae came to Ireland on a cloud. In a manner of speaking that is true. We arrived in numbers and in a mist that protected our journey through what your scientists might call a 'wormhole'.

We came first to Ireland and strayed onto Scotland, and I for one (as did many of my kind) fell in love with the land. We were held by the inhabitants of the time as gods. Our exploits and praises were heralded by minstrels and poets taking tales of our magic from town to town.

I only know that, from the start, I was drawn to the people of that era, their passions and their lust for life...

Immortality wears on a Fae. So many things are forgotten in the passing of time, and because of that, we have been brought to a moment in time when our world and the human world have been attacked.

Now, in the present, we having been fighting a new kind of war and one we had not expected. It is our own fault. When we came to Ireland, the Dark Unseelie Fae—monsters who were imprisoned in their Dark Realm—were attached to us, so to speak. Now they are led by a Seelie traitor, and their ominous threat grows each day. They could change the world as we know it. We have been working to stop them, and during this process Ete has decided it is time for me to write my memoirs; she says it is important to have the past in writing.

She wants me to start at the beginning, but some things are difficult to recall and others better left forgotten.

I have decided to start with the humans I came to think of as my human family, in the year of 1314. I shall start with the MacCleans as I learned so much from them—their life experiences, their joys and woes.

It was a time long after the Treaty, and it was a time when I no longer allowed myself to be shackled by the rules of the non-interference clause.

I had already broken them a couple of centuries past for Moon...a beauty, but not quite human; however, that is a tale already told.

This time, I broke nearly all of the blasted rules intentionally and not only became involved with my MacClean humans... I very nearly became one of them. I chose a side in their battle to retain control of their homeland, and that side was with Robert the Bruce, true King of Scotland.

Damn—those were roaring days filled with abandonment!

It was then in that year of 1314 I first saw Chartelle and was struck nearly dumb by her beauty. She was tall and ethereal, and her hair...

But here is where I hand over the pen... and allow the first of my great stories to unfold.

~ One ~

### 1314

THE PRINCE OF Dagda stood overlooking the Highland encased in its morning mist with the valley stretched out before him. To say that he was a striking figure of the best of male attributes would not do justice to his appearance. He was phenomenal of mind and body.

He knew who he was looking for—he had seen and watched her some days past and had made it his business to discover her name and her circumstance: _Chartelle._

He watched as she walked over the rise and into full view, and he couldn't tear his gaze away. She was an exceptional beauty that captured his breath and fed it back to him in slow degrees.

Her hair, long and silky, was bright yellow like a freshly opened buttercup and flew around her delicate shoulders in the strong wind. She hugged her dark and heavy cloak around herself as she walked, and her movements displayed her grace.

He already knew she was only twenty but had been married for three years to the Laird of Dumfries, Francis Bouthe. Her marriage had been one of convenience, one that joined two important Scottish names.

He already knew that three years ago, Chartelle had agreed without demurring to do her part for her father, whose concerns were with the land. Still, he had believed that he'd arranged an advantageous marriage for his beloved daughter. She married Bouthe and dutifully gave her husband a son, now a year old.

The prince had investigated and discovered what secrets Bouthe of Dumfries hid and surmised that Chartelle's husband did not share a marriage bed with his wife. His tastes were not for women.

And the prince was fully aware that the beauty had accepted the circumstance as her lot in life.

He smiled now to himself because he meant to bring about change... rules of non-interference be damned.

He watched her as she came to an abrupt halt and stood at the foothills of the great Grampian Mountains in the cold, misty spring day. Clouds hung low and dark, and a sure warning of rain hung in the atmosphere.

The beauty appeared lost to her thoughts. He watched the flitting expressions cross her face, and he imagined he heard the sadness in the long sigh she appeared to release.

However, the Fae prince was moved to frown darkly when he saw a tear roll down her lovely cheek.

Damnation and bloody hell! He meant to replace those tears with smiles. The Royal Fae Prince of Dagda, watching from another dimension, made his decision. He had been, like so many of the Fae, trying to keep aloof from humans. He had taken up watching humans because they were entertaining, yes, but they drew on emotions he had buried in Fae discipline. However, immortality brought with it boredom of the worst kind, and there was no doubt human watching had alleviated that ennui.

It was only another step that had sent him rushing in and becoming involved with their daily lives. He discovered he had strong opinions about their politics and religion and that the men he encountered were willing to listen... and Breslyn found himself in his element.

Steps... he thought he was breaking rules with only small steps when he'd suddenly looked about himself and roared with joy. He had dived into it all enthusiastically, and he reveled in it. He had taken on the Scot call for freedom...

He had denounced the King of England's hold on the Scots. He had stood with Scotsmen in the local pub near Belfor and denounced the English taxes and picked up on the battle cry.

He had donned human Glamour and had been received as one of them... and he had become thoroughly embroiled in leaps and bounds and loved it.

In another giant step he found himself befriending Robert the Bruce. And then he'd enlisted the Knights Templar to join in the Scottish battle against the Brits. After their French king had ousted them and confiscated a great deal of their wealth, they had looked for a new home. The Prince of Fae invited them to make that home in Scotland and help in the war against the English. It was easily done because the Knights of Templar knew what he was and had been protecting Fae Relics and Hallows for years.

Forgotten was his race's law of non-interference. Forgotten were his Queen Aaibhe's demands that none tinker with the fates; Breslyn had quite made up his mind that this was in fact his destiny, and he meant to follow it. And now there was one more rule he meant to explode to smithereens. Breslyn called for his Fae horse and donned his human Glamour and the clothes of the time before he easily jumped onto his snowy gray stallion.

Oh—but even as a man, he was outstanding. Taller than all, straight in his saddle, his dark blond hair slicked back and tied at the nape of his neck. His eyes glittered with anticipation as his horse snorted in the cool, damp air and stamped the earth with his front hooves. They made quite a picture in the morning mist.

With scarcely a movement he shifted them (Fae form of locomotion—think of an open wormhole or tunnel and stepping thru to the destination of your choice on the other side) to the open pasture just outside the Belfor gates and rode over the crest of the hill towards the lady whose eyes spoke to his heart.

She turned, saw him astride his magnificent horse, and hurriedly brushed away the tears as he got closer. He saw her put on an amiable face, and his heart reached out to hold her. Then he was off his horse and bowing with grace and agility. He didn't hope he made a dashing figure of a man—Breslyn knew he damn well made a dashing figure of a man... and he did.

"My lady..." he said softly as he unbent and looked into her green, wet eyes. He felt a frown flit across his face. "May I be of service?" He put on a bit of a Scottish accent but incongruously allowed his own 'old world Danu' to shine through. He was proud of who and what he was.

She gave him a tentative smile and shook her head. "No... oh no. I am merely out for some air."

He brought his horse up alongside of them, and she reached out and stroked the magnificent animal's nose. "Lovely, isn't he?"

"Aye, and a gentleman as well," Breslyn said softly. "Would... my lady allow me to join her in her walk?"

She laughed. "I do not want to keep you from your purpose..."

"My purpose was to enjoy the day. I wasn't until this moment."

She blushed, and it made him hard. Emotion rushed through him, and he savored the sensation. His eyes swept over her as her cloak blew away from her figure, and he stared a moment at her full breasts. Hard? He was so damn hard he felt he could put his dick through a wall! Bloody hell, but he had a sudden urge to scoop her into his arms and kiss her! He settled for putting a finger to her pretty chin. "Blushing, my lady?"

She looked away and said on a hushed note, "I am a married woman..."

"Are you? And who has the honor of calling you wife? Tell me at once so that I may put him in the ground and eliminate my competition." The tease was there, and it made her giggle. Breslyn understood, in spite of her marriage, how very young and innocent she still was.

"I am wife to Francis Bouthe, Laird Dumfries," she said on a quiet, resigned note.

"Never say so! Upon my word... but that is not possible..." In truth, of course, Breslyn knew about her husband—perhaps more than she herself did. Breslyn's stance with the Scots was loyal, and his service to Robert the Bruce was from a genuine belief that the Scots were in the right of it. Therefore, he had not been above spying in his endeavor to produce beneficial information to aid that cause. That spying had brought Dumfries to notice, and he was a weasel of a traitor to Scotland. Breslyn had already developed a hatred of the man. That she could be married to such a wart both distressed his sense of honor and fermented his resolve to have her—steal her away from the villain!

She appeared startled by his remark, and she asked hesitantly, "Do you know him?"

" _Of him_ , my lady..." Breslyn frowned darkly and then looked about. "But you are not near enough to have walked from Dumfries?" He knew better but meant to lead her where he wanted to go.

She smiled, and it was genuine. "No, I am visiting with my family. My father is Laird of Belfor and has been ill. We—I was clan MacClean."

Breslyn grinned. "I am sorry to hear about your da, but this is quite wonderful for I do know your brother Storm. Met him only a few weeks past, and we struck up a quick friendship. Odd name—Storm."

She laughed. "Yes, he was born in the midst of a raging gale, and his name suits him, I think."

Breslyn looked up at the dark clouds moving in and offered, "My lady, I fear we are about to have a shower. Let me give you a ride home... and keep you dry." Breslyn watched her flitting thoughts cross her beauteous face and made a decision. He picked her up before she could answer, set her side saddle on his horse, and jumped nimbly up behind her to whisper in her ear, "It is upon us." So saying he urged his horse forward and worked him into a gentle canter across the open field.

All at once she laughed right out loud and accepted her situation to ask, "But who are you?"

"I am Breslyn, Pri—" He corrected himself. "Lord of Dagda."

* * *

_He is like a god—this Laird of Dagda. Where did he come from? His accent soothing as it is sounds arcane in tone, and it is mesmerizing and seductive. He isn't a Scot, of that I am certain._ Chartelle's thoughts slammed into one another as she leaned against him on the soft leather saddle _._

His height—oh my—is exceptional, his body muscular and scarcely concealed in his leather tunic and trews. His trews... unusual... form fitting his long strong legs...

He is so handsome... so very unusually handsome, and his eyes of silver sparkle and make me forget...

He radiates intelligence. He emits sensuality... he seems somehow 'otherworldly', and he causes my body to tremble... with... no... I am a married woman, and yet...

His eyes make me burn... and the color of his long, dark blond hair seems streaked with gold. I like the manner in which he ties it at the back of his neck. His smile charms me and makes me feel young and free again—and his arms around me make me feel more than safe. They make me feel like the woman my husband has never made me feel—and I must be a wanton creature to endure these thoughts!

But—my husband? It is a lie—the life we lead. He has his boys—children really—the serving boy I saw him take into his room the other day could not have been more than ten! He is disgusting! At least he no longer touches me now that we have a son. I can't bear that my son is his... John, beautiful John, named for my father. He is the only thing that makes my life bearable at Dumfries...

My home has always been Belfor. In my heart, it is still. It is magical... it has been home to Druid priests for centuries. It whispers tales of our history with its turrets and its balustrade that looms high in the distance against the dark, misty sky and craggy landscape. I love it so.

I have accepted many things from a husband who will never love me and who I will never love, but there is one thing I cannot accept—he might be a traitor. And I must never leave him alone with our son... it worries me to distraction. And, if he has as I fear betrayed Robert the Bruce... if he is a traitor... what then shall I do?

She felt Breslyn gently slow his horse to a complete halt, and she turned to look up at his handsome face. What she saw there sent a flurry of desire through her body. "Why have you stopped...?"

"Because I must—forgive me, beauty, but I cannot proceed without taking a liberty..." Breslyn's hold on her tightened as he bent and leaned in to put his lips softly against hers.

His tongue sweetly parted her lips and teased her for an introduction. Chartelle immediately surrendered to him. She was young and had been yearning for more, and Breslyn was everything she had dreamt of...

His kiss sent tremors rushing through her body, and she pressed into him, wanting more. Chartelle had never been kissed like that before.

_Burning_! Her body sizzled and crackled and demanded more of the same. She didn't, couldn't chastise herself. She couldn't, didn't make excuses for caving to temptation. She was too lost in the 'wanting' and ready to forgive herself for taking.

When Breslyn gently pulled away and rested his chin on her lovely head, she felt a wave of yearning for more until she heard his husky voice utter, "Chartelle, I promise I will never harm you, but I tell you here and now—you are mine, and I make my declaration to you. There will no longer be any other for you— _only me!_ There is no husband... there is no other... _only me_."

Oddly enough, it was what she had been wishing for, only him. She had felt from the moment she saw him a connection, as though she was meant for this laird who had arrived out of nowhere. However, the realist in her knew she was still stuck in a loveless marriage, and she had a son she had to protect. She hesitated and then offered worriedly, "My son... I have a son..."

"He is part of who you are, and I will protect you both. Mark me in this, Chartelle."

"It is so strange... you here now... I wish we had met three years ago... I wish... but then, I don't know how you even know my name."

"Your brother spoke of you."

"I... I am a shameful creature... a married woman..." She avoided his eye.

He took her chin and forced her to look up at him. "You could never wear the mantle of shame. You are perfection in my eyes, and that is all that will matter, but I promise you, Chartelle, you will not be married for long."

"What mean you?"

"I mean to make a widow of you," Breslyn snapped irritably.

She pulled back and looked sharply at him as though looking for the truth on his face. Breslyn sighed and cupped her cheek with his open hand. "No, my lady, as much as I wish it, and am capable of it, I shall not kill the father of your son. I wouldn't do that—because I mean to be in his life as well as yours. And even so, you shall be mine."

"You must not say anymore. Take me home... please, Laird of Dagda," she said softly, turning away from him; however, his touch, his hold, the memory of the feel of his mouth on hers still made her body tremble.

He turned her back to face him. "Do not fear me—do not fear this. It is what it is, and I shall protect you from all others. Do you believe me, Chartelle? Tell me that you believe me."

" _This moves too fast..."_

"Your lives move too fast, and they are over too fast. I don't mean to allow you to waste it..." Breslyn said nearly under his breath.

"What mean you? _Our lives_? You speak in riddles as though you are not a part of..." Chartelle looked deeply into his eyes, and a whisper made its way through her brain, but she swooshed it away. "This is all nonsense... you must not make of me a fallen woman."

"I will not. I will raise you up and make you mine. You are above all other women. No man will challenge me when I take you for my own."

"Stop this foolish talk... please—you frighten me. You present me with a future that is uncertain at a time when so much of my life is falling apart. "

* * *

Nothing could have silenced him faster. The prince realized he had moved in too quickly. His need to savor every moment with her because human life was over so swiftly had led him to rush her.

What he wanted was to make her feel safe and comforted. He wanted to reassure her but all the while set a stage where he could openly take her for his own and make her happy. He would not allow her to return to Francis Bouthe of Dumfries. That simply was not an option. Chartelle would be his before the night came and went, the consequences be damned!

He looked up at that moment and saw Castle Belfor at the ridge of the craggy hill. He smiled. The feudal structure was stunning in the mist with its turrets, pinnacles, and carved walkways between the balustrades. He could see that the MacClean clan was a wealthy one from the flurry of military activity, the marching and jousting outside the oversized and open arched gateway. Just inside were the outbuildings that housed a huge garrison of soldiers, all busy, some of whom were patrolling the buildings' surrounding rooftop walkways.

He smiled as he urged his horse forward, excited at the prospect of mingling and interacting with the men he was about to help lead against Edward II of England.

He saw the look of surprise on some of the soldiers' faces as he rode by with the laird's daughter in the saddle before him and grinned to himself.

He slowed his horse to a walk inside and past the outbuildings that garrisoned the soldiers. An enormous courtyard full with servants and soldiers alike, all going about their chores of the day, met them as he weaved his horse through the crowd towards the feudal stables.

Just outside one of the stone-built barns, Breslyn jumped nimbly down and reached for Chartelle, taking her small waist into his hands and allowing her to slide down against his body. He whispered in her ear and had the satisfaction of hearing her breathe harder.

A young groom came rushing forward to take his horse, and Breslyn hesitated only a moment as he whispered to his stallion in ancient Danu and turned to the groom. "He'll want the open field after he has been fed. Let him have it. He'll come to me when I want him, fear not."

The boy's eyes opened wide, but he wasn't arguing with anyone the size and statue of the man who stood before him. Breslyn laughed and slipped the boy a few hefty coins. "Feed yourself and your family well tonight. Now off with you."

Chartelle had been staring at the prince with admiration, and she said on a quiet note, "You are generous and kind... thank you."

Breslyn took her hand and kissed it long and lovingly. "Now lead me... wither thou goest..."

She laughed and tried to take her hand away from his, but he would not let go. Finally she scrunched up her beauteous face and pleaded, "Please, my laird, people will see."

"Breslyn... I am Breslyn to you, for always, and I care not for what people see or don't see."

"For me then, Breslyn... everyone will look askance..."

He shrugged. "'Tis of no consequence. I mean to make my claim."

"You cannot... I am married. I have never heard of anything—"

"And still I shall make my claim."

They reached the two ornately embossed oak doors that were flung open before they could bang the knocker. Chartelle smiled impishly. "They must have been watching from the windows. _You_... _your horse_ and the manner in which we arrived has made quite a stir."

They were met at the arched double doors by an elderly, plump woman in a dark gray fustian smock with a wimple held to her brow with a simple fillet. The light cotton wimple hid most of her gray curls although some peeped out. She stood smiling warmly just off the doorway while making affectionate baby sounds to the boy she jiggled in her ample arms.

The child saw his mother and reached out with his arms as he giggled a welcome. Chartelle took him at once and made strange cooing words as she kissed his face until the child screamed with delight.

"Now, young John... 'tis time you spoke a word, and that word, my big boy, should be mama!" With that she tickled the lad's tummy, eliciting a peal of laughter from him.

Breslyn watched her in fascination. He felt a stirring inside him to have this—have her and her babe.

They stood a long moment like that, in the large Great Hall, and Breslyn was aware he had not enjoyed a domestic scene like this since his parents were killed in the Great Battle...

All at once, the sweetness of the moment was exploded as a shout filled the air. From seemingly out of nowhere a charging imp of a filthy urchin nearly slammed into them in his rush to get outdoors.

Breslyn's hand had gone automatically to his sword at the sound of a man's shout from behind the urchin, but he removed his fingers from the hilt and with speed and agility reached out and scooped up the lad, who took to kicking and screaming. Breslyn held him up dangling off the stone floor and ordered, "Quiet, child. That's it... be at ease, lad. No one shall hurt you—trust me in this." Breslyn had the satisfaction of observing the lad calm down, and he allowed him to stand but retained his hold on him.

"Don't promise what you canna give, my friend!" roared a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome devil. He shook his head of long black waves as he closed the distance between them.

"Since when did you take to terrorizing urchins?" Breslyn laughed and with one arm shifted the struggling boy while extending the other to the heir of Belfor.

"It is what I do to eavesdropping, filthy little..." Storm MacClean grinned broadly as he took Breslyn's hand. "My Laird of Dagda... we are well met! Welcome, and if you give over the brat, I shall attend to him."

Breslyn eyed the lad he held by his filthy collar and looked him over. The boy was frightened, and his eyes pleaded for help. There was something about the child, but what it was eluded him. He frowned as a notion entered his head, and a slow smile would have curved his sensuous lips had he not stopped himself in time. He believed he knew something that at the moment no one else did, something the youth was desperately attempting to keep secret. He decided to keep quiet and watch it play out. He said to the dirty lad, "There now... no more running... we will sort this out."

Storm was an excellent depiction of his unusual given name. He stood looking like a veritable whirlwind, scarcely contained, with his raging blue eyes and his agile, muscular warrior body tense with annoyance. He moved in closer to have a better look at the dirty-faced boy and demanded, "Well? Speak you? Why were you listening in at the library door?"

"You misunderstand, my laird... I was simply bent over... trying to repair my shoes..." The boy lifted a leg covered by worn fustian cotton and wiggled his poorly covered foot. "... 'tis when you opened the door and startled me." The boy's voice was young and shaky. Breslyn and Storm exchanged glances. Breslyn kept his peace and waited to see how his friend would handle it.

Storm shook his head. "What think you, Breslyn—have we one of Edward's spies here at Belfor?"

The boy put up a fist and shook it at Storm MacClean. " _Do not say it_! I would die before ever I would spy for Edward and the Brits!"

Both Breslyn and Storm MacClean heard the sincerity behind the words, and Breslyn said softly, "I believe him—do you not?"

"You believe this rag of a child. He no doubt has lived on nothing but lies," Storm said ruefully. He sighed heavily and looked away from the youth to ask, "So, but tell me, my laird, what brings you here to Belfor?"

"I have news... of a sort. I thought we could plan a stratagem and then ride to Robert the Bruce together later in the week."

They slapped one another's shoulders, evidently both well pleased with this before Breslyn added, "Aye... it will be soon, Storm."

Chartelle had been only half listening to them as she sent her son off with his nanny. Her immediate concern was for the urchin. She went near him and touched his cheek, whispering, "Fear not, child."

She then turned to her brother and Breslyn. "You big oafs!" She wagged a finger at them. "This is but a poor lad. I have seen him in the stables, helping the grooms for mere table scraps of food. His name is Alex, and he is an orphan. I have asked Cook to make certain he was bathed and fed, but apparently, getting him into a bath today was more than she could manage. _I, however,_ shall manage very well."

"Yes, but, sister—" Storm began his objections.

"An orphan, Storm." Chartelle interrupted him on a firm note. "It is our duty to help him."

Storm's frown softened as he regarded his younger sister. Eight years her senior, he was fond of her, enough that he had taken a position against his father when his father had decided to marry her to Francis Bouthe of Dumfries. Storm had never liked the match, and his instincts had proven correct. Chartelle had confided in him, and it was his deep desire to run the bastard down and return him to dust.

"So you say..." Her brother frowned as he regarded the lad. "My gut tells me otherwise. Something is not quite right here, Chartelle... and we must tread warily." He shook his head. "I tell you, this child—here suddenly and just now—doesn't fit. I am concerned that he is a spy for the English king. Lord knows the Brits have them everywhere."

"Impossible," Chartelle softly said and shook her head. "He is not a spy, but a poor and hungry lad."

"Chartelle, I caught him eavesdropping."

"I don't believe it, and if he was eavesdropping than it was idle curiosity... _naughty,_ but not evil. Come, Alex. What you need is a bath and a trip to our kitchens."

"Chartelle, I am not done questioning him yet."

"Perhaps not, and still... for the moment, you are." She lifted her chin. "How is Father?"

"Slipping fast." Storm's eyes dimmed sadly.

Chartelle reached up and touched Storm's face to whisper, "As soon as I see to the boy, I will go to him." Chartelle sighed and took the child's delicate hand, surprised at its smoothness. She had expected the poor boy's hand to be covered with calluses and blisters. A sudden doubt assailed her. Could Storm be correct? Was this child making his living as a spy? She did not believe it, not for a moment. As she led the boy away she said over her shoulder to her brother, who called his objections still, "Yes, yes... you may continue to question him later when he has been cleaned and bathed. For now, the child is with me!"

Storm and Breslyn exchanged glances. Breslyn, Prince of the Tuatha Dé, burst out laughing and said to her brother, "I believe the lady has spoken."

~ Two ~

"ALEX, WHAT IS IT—don't you trust me?" Chartelle reached to touch the lad, who stepped backwards.

"How can I? How can I trust any of you?"

There was a refinement in the lad's tone of voice, and Chartelle's delicate brow rose as her eyes narrowed. "Whatever can you mean?"

"You are the Lady of Dumfries... and here you... ye... be..." The boy slipped back into peasant dialect.

"Be I?" Chartelle teased, hoping to set the child at ease. Her lovely lips lifted into a smile, and there was a comforting look in her eyes the lad could not mistake, but he took another step backwards.

"Aye... doona think I don't know what the lot of you are doing..." Alex bit his lips as though suddenly aware he had said too much.

"Why would you think we are doing anything you might not like?" Chartelle pursued as she stepped forward and Alex backed up further.

"Because... because... he was right... your brother... I had been eavesdropping, and I heard... I heard him talking with his messenger," the lad spat, taking another step backwards.

"You have a very odd accent, boy. One moment falling into heavy dialect and then the next shifting into refined speech. Why is that?" Chartelle didn't give him a chance to move further away. She jumped forward and snatched the woolen hat from his head, which in turn surprised a gasp out of her.

Alex's black, thick, long hair tumbled out and framed his heart-shaped face. Alex shifted his delicate shoulders under the quantity of rags he wore and put up his delicate albeit dirty chin.

"No lad here... but a young woman!" Chartelle said on a hushed note as much to herself as to Alex.

"Right, so now you know..." Alex's shoulders sank, and she lowered her gaze to the woven rush carpet at her feet.

"Oh, my dear... I know nothing at all. What is this? Why are you masquerading as a servant boy—an orphan no less? Are you running away from a brutal father?"

It was Alex's turn to gasp. "Brutal father—nay, my lady. My father was the best of all good fathers in the world. My da..." And with that, Alex burst into tears.

* * *

The prince regarded Storm MacClean thoughtfully and inquired, "What I don't understand is the reason you and your father matched Dumfries with your sister."

It had come out of nowhere and had nothing to do with the maps Storm had spread out on the long plank table. Storm looked at Breslyn in some surprise. "Not that it is any of your business, but m'da is near his last days... and I believe his illness started back then. He had become forgetful... and his decision making..." Storm shook his head. "At any rate, he thought her marriage to Bouthe a necessary connection at the time. He was not then aware of the... complete situation. He thought he would with the marriage of a MacClean and a Dumfries unite our lands against the Brits."

"I see... but you, Storm, you had your suspicions even then?"

"Aye." Storm grinned ruefully. "I get about, you see, and there were rumors..."

"And still you gave that precious lovely to him?"

Storm flared up and then caved in on himself. "My father is laird of Belfor... it was _his decision_ , but I did try and sway him otherwise. My sister was a dutiful daughter. If she had made more of an objection... perhaps..."

"That is all of no consequence now, and I am sorry that your father is so ill."

"Ill and remorseful because he sees even in his present condition... any fool could see now what Francis Bouthe of Dumfries is and how inadequate a husband and father he is."

"As I said, it is of no matter. Bouthe will never come near her or her son. I mean to make Chartelle mine, and she will be under my protection." He eyed Storm and added, "Make no mistake of it."

"Then we are well met on this, because I mean to make her a widow!" Storm hissed.

Breslyn grinned. "Then we are of a mind, but... I am hoping for a better outcome."

Storm frowned. "What can you mean—I thought you might want him dead?"

"Aye, but it would be better for your sister's son if his uncle isn't his father's killer... eh?"

"Time will tell," Storm said sadly. Then with a faint smile he asked, "Breslyn, how do you happen to be here just now? I had not expected to see you for days." He handed the prince a glass of whisky and added, "This comes from the monks and is quite good."

Breslyn sipped, liked it, and threw it down. "I was with the Knights just yesterday, and there was a restless sound of drumbeating amongst them. They seem concerned that someone who walks freely amongst the Scots is a spy for Edward!"

"It is as I feared then... and, Breslyn, I will tell you now, so there can be no mistake, I believe the spy to be my brother-in-law."

"Ah, then we must finish him before he draws your sister into the fire. The Knights are suspicious of women. They will not believe she was not a party to his traitorous schemes. They will think she listened in on your conversations and sent Francis Bouthe word."

"Aye, we are in agreement." He shook his head and chewed his bottom lip. "I have been waiting for the opportunity to pick a fight with him."

"A fight—aye, and do it soon, because if you do not, I shall. However, he must not die by either one of our hands." It was more than the consequences he would suffer if he killed a human that had Breslyn urging caution. He was also concerned about the boy, Chartelle's son.

Storm snorted. "I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me."

"We needs find a cause to declare him unwelcome here at Belfor. It needs doing before he can do any more harm. Somehow he is getting a hold of our skirmish strategies. He knows where and when they will take place, and he has been informing the Brits. It must be Francis Bouthe, and he might be getting information from an unwitting servant. We have to be careful to lock everything away against curious eyes."

"I know. I have been suspecting him for some weeks now and purposely left an erroneous plan lying about when he was here last. I know he gave it to Edward because the Brits were at the site... and _we were not_ , and he was the only one I fed the false information."

"Very well then... we are agreed. Bouthe of Dumfries is yours... and _your sister_ is _mine!_ "

Storm stepped back, shock written all over his face, and then suddenly he bent forward, palms on his muscular thighs as he brought his handsome head up and released an uproarious laugh. "Good luck to you, my man—all I can promise is that I shan't stand in your way."

"No one other than _she_... could," Breslyn answered softly and then changed the subject. "Now there is the matter of the urchin upstairs with your sister at this very moment..." Breslyn studied Storm, wondering what the man might do in the young person's regard.

"I know nothing of him, other than yesterday he showed up, needing shelter and food and was more than willing to work in the stables to get it. My sister immediately saw to his needs, but just earlier I found him outside my door. I was sending my rider with a message to Robert." Storm shook his handsome head. "What was I supposed to think?"

Breslyn already knew there was more to the child than met the eye, but he decided to allow things to take their course. "Never mind that now... show me the plans you have worked out. Let us see if we can add a surprise for the Brits, for I swear, Storm, this next battle will be major, and damn if it won't be ours!"

* * *

Chartelle forgot the malodorous, dirty clothes and hugged the young woman until the woman's sobs subsided. She then bade her sit on a nearby brocade-cushioned lady's chair by the fire. She drew her own chair up close and said, "Now if you please... _do trust me_... and explain."

The young woman's gray eyes swept her a troubled glance and met Chartelle's caring green eyes. With a final sob, she sniffed and looked at her openly. "I told you the truth, my lady, when I said my name is Alex... so it is in a manner of speaking. 'Tis what m'da always called me, but my given name is Alexis MacDae of Waverly."

Chartelle gasped and leaned forward. "Waverly... but, oh, they said you were dead! They said you died of the fever just before Edward's men stormed your castle."

"So m'da made it seem. A young woman had died of the fever the day before, and when we saw them coming, m'da hid me in our stables, in these clothes, and bade me smear dirt on myself and hide my hair..." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I didn't know—I didn't realize they would actually kill my da! I thought they would take him prisoner and meant to lie low and then free him... but they are filthy cowards, and Da being the brave soul he was... stood up to them." Alex bent her head down and played with her fingers before she brought her angry eyes back up to Chartelle's face. "They told me later... they told me how the Earl of Gloucester ran him through... filthy, ugly coward. He had m'da held by a man on either side of him and just..." Alex's voice broke on the words.

Chartelle got up and kneeled beside the girl to take her hands. "We suspected something of the sort. When it was announced that Edward had confiscated Waverly Castle for non-payment of taxes and gave it as tribute to the earl, we knew."

Chartelle shook her head. "Storm said your da couldn't keep enough soldiers at Waverly... that your da had fallen on difficult times. He had planned to send a garrison over to protect you both, but he had had no idea Edward would strike so quickly." Chartelle lowered her gaze and then brought it up to the young woman's face. "We heard that father and daughter had been found dead from fever, and we did not believe it—we believed his soldiers had killed you both."

She got to her feet. "Well, you have just become Alexis MacRhodes, my father's ward... cousin from our distant relatives, and the first thing you must do is have a bath!"

So saying, Chartelle was on her feet and ringing for the servants. When they appeared she instructed them to draw a bath for her cousin in the blue chamber and then to go about their business as she would attend her relative herself. She turned to Alexis and said, "We'll just stay here until your bath is ready... no need for anyone to see you until the morn. I shall put together a wardrobe for you. No doubt the gowns will be too long, so we will have to put them up... but we'll do, _cousin_... we'll do." Chartelle smiled sweetly.

* * *

Alexis, now posing in the quiet of her room as a member of the clan MacRhodes, a purely fictional clan, silently repeated what Chartelle had told her, putting it to memory as she looked at the woman in the polished metal mirror. She still had her secrets to keep and felt a wave of guilt. Chartelle was sincere and good, and she should warn her by telling her the rest...

Chartelle smiled as she came up behind her. "You look so serious. Don't worry. You will have enough time before anyone questions your heritage. After all, it isn't as though we are holding great feasts... with the war in progress."

Alexis touched the light blue of the soft fabric of the nightdress Chartelle had given her. "Thank you... thank you for your kindness..."

Chartelle raised a brow. "It isn't kindness, Alex... it is common decency. My father and your father were neighbors and amiable acquaintances. It is our duty to keep our friends safe from harm when we can." She patted her shoulder. "There now... off to bed. It has been a long day, and tomorrow morning I'll come in and pin up that gown for you. I have a few gowns that should lace up nicely round your little figure, and once I have your measure, I'll have my seamstress make you others."

"What will you tell her? Won't she wonder..."

"The truth... in part. The Brits overran your home, killed your father, and all you were able to get away with was your life. And in the meantime, we will speak very little about where you are from. Don't worry... we won't let the Brits find that Alexis of Waverly survived."

Alex hugged the warm blue woolen nightdress about herself and sighed as Chartelle got up and put a brush to the young woman's hair.

"Tell me..." Chartelle paused momentarily and then asked, "You disguised yourself well under all those dirty clothes, but how... you are after all, full breasted... how..."

"I strapped myself down with a cloth. It was most uncomfortable!"

"You are quite an extraordinary woman." Chartelle tugged one long black lock. "And beautiful as well... such lovely gray eyes." Chartelle sighed and waved her off. "Now... to bed."

"You must not think to mother me. I was an only child and motherless for a long time. My father allowed me full rein, and I am accustomed to taking care of myself." Alex wagged a finger amiably.

Chartelle teased sweetly, "Mother you? Nay... but I am, however, your senior and will be minded."

Alex giggled. "My senior? I am nineteen, and you don't look older than that."

"Well, I am—all of twenty," Chartelle shot back as she moved towards the door. "Sleep well, Alex. It is lovely to have a friend here at Belfor."

"Chartelle?" Alex stayed her at the doorway.

Chartelle turned to face her. "Yes?"

"What will you tell your brother? He thinks me a spy. He will continue to think me a spy."

"Absurd. Why should he think that?"

"He will say I am spying for the Brits... perhaps to get my home back from them."

"Humph! As though they would give a woman such a valuable estate. Now, stop worrying." Chartelle went back to her side, gave her a hug, and then pushed her towards the bed. "Sleep. In the morning everything will look better."

However, when she visited with Storm and Breslyn a few moments later, a spy was precisely what Storm declared her to be after hearing she was a woman—the Waverly daughter. He didn't seem relieved at all...

* * *

It was hours later when Breslyn stood at Chartelle's closed bedroom door. The time was late, and he believed she was asleep; however, that did not deter him as he moved to open the door. But then, suddenly, he stopped.

It was in that moment he hesitated with doubt, a flaying doubt that suddenly and totally assailed him and kept him frozen in place. Was he moving too quickly... would he frighten her when she realized what he really was? For she was a discerning creature that would eventually see the alien in his ancient eyes. She would see him for who he really was before he was ready for her to do so. What would she think when she discovered he was a Royal Fae?

He banished this concern, and instead of stepping forward he boldly shifted, Fae-style, into her chamber, as though a part of him wanted to let her see, acknowledge, and get it over with...

She was awake and tossing about under the covers, unaware of his presence. He watched her a moment, in awe of her beauty in the moonlight from the undraped windows. She threw the covers off, and he felt his raging hard-on throb in his leather trews. With a blink, his clothes were gone, relegated to the floor. He stood naked, hungry.

What was it about this human woman that made him shiver with a desire he could not remember ever feeling before? Beautiful, exquisite Fae females had enticed and held his interest and passions over the thousands of years that he had lived, but this was... different. What was it about this human that curled his ardor into a tight coil ready to spring? No Fae female had ever wrung out such primal sensations from him before, and Fae females were skilled in the art of making love.

She moved something inside him to 'feel and experience' sensations he had not hitherto been aware he was capable of experiencing. Something wild and yet sweetly entrenched in her heart drew on him... called to him...

Such emotions were nonsense, and yet, it was a fact he could not deny. He felt feral as he gazed at her and waited for her to see him...

* * *

It had been a long day, and so much had happened, Chartelle thought as she tossed and turned. She couldn't believe her restlessness. She should have fallen right off to sleep. She was, after all, exhausted from the day and the uncertainties. Her mind and her body, however, seemed hell bent on keeping her awake.

She had experienced a bit of a scene with her brother Storm. He had not appreciated being duped by the urchin now apparently a young woman, and he'd had a few choice words to say...

And when she was able to get a word in and told him the girl was actually a Waverly, it only served to add fuel to his already raging fire. He still thought her a spy!

Breslyn had taken up a stand beside her but said nothing as brother and sister talked it all out. Afterwards, Breslyn walked her across the Great Hall with its four burning fires and then to the staircase, where he took her into his arms. She had made a show of pushing him away, but he held her fast and she'd caved, giving in to the lust she felt for him.

His kiss was all about 'later'. It had somehow whispered a promise of more to come, so it was no wonder that she lay in bed... _waiting._

She had finished with Alexis and then spent a few minutes holding her father's hand as he drifted off before visiting the nursery. She'd spent a goodly hour playing with her son before she put him in his bed with a soft lullaby.

She then spent another hour in her bed, wide awake and waiting for... hoping for Breslyn to come to see her privately, and then when he did not come, she spent a goodly while telling herself she was a shameless tart that deserved to be disappointed.

Warm from the glowing fire in the hearth, she tossed off her quilts and undid her nightdress. Her hand brushed up against her full breast, and she stretched, feeling an erotic sensation spirit through her veins.

Something caught her attention, and she looked up to see his form standing there at the foot of the bed. "Breslyn!" was all she could say, because her heart was beating so fast she could hear its drum roll in her ears and nothing else.

"Beauty..." he whispered softly as he came to stand over her by the edge of the bed. He was totally naked, and she couldn't drag her eyes away from him. She looked him up and then down, lingered on the size of his manhood, and then flushed and looked back at his face.

She could see that he wanted her to look at him, and then he was sitting beside her, leaning in on one hand. A glint of light played off the gold torque he wore around his neck, and her gaze traveled over his wide chest, further down to his flat belly, and then she was staring because there was no doubt he was, as they say, hung... like a stallion and ready to serve!

"I didn't want to startle you," he said softly, "but I couldn't catch my breath as I watched you toss about in your bed. I couldn't speak... Chartelle, you are so wonderfully, enticingly beautiful..."

His seductive accent... his touch now on her breasts as he lowered the neckline of her nightdress, baring one breast and taking a nipple between his fingers and teasing it to make her squirm with a sudden rush of appetite. Still she made a feeble attempt to stay him from his purpose. "Nay, my laird, you should not be here..."

"Oh, but I should, and I am, and I am not leaving," he returned softly as he took up her shoulders and brought her closer and into his embrace.

She knew what she was doing. At first, she had so wanted to make her marriage work. She knew from 'talks' with friends and overheard conversations from the serving women in her father's employ what women thought a man enjoyed in bed. She tried experimenting, and at first her husband was mildly responsive and encouraging—even taught her what he preferred. At first. Very soon that changed, and she realized afterwards that his limp advances and encouragements had been merely to get her pregnant. When she realized what he was—what perversions with children he preferred—she was repulsed even by the sight of him.

But Breslyn... Breslyn made her blood burn with hot white fire, and the only relief would be to surrender to his arms.

His mouth closed on hers, and his tongue this time no longer stalled with introductions but immediately and intimately explored, tempted her, tasted her, taught her, all while he removed her sheer nightdress and bared her body to him. He groaned as he pulled away from their kiss to gaze at her naked, firm breasts, and then he bent his head to suckle at her pert nipples. His fingers played a magic tune over her body as he tossed the blankets out of his way and laid her in position beside him.

She saw his dancing cock by the light of the fire, and she licked her lips as he pressed himself against her body. She wanted him with every fiber of her being... she wanted him...

He took himself in his hands and drew a pattern with his dripping dick over her breasts, as though marking her his own, and then he straddled her, taking his weight off her with his elbows and knees as he bent and kissed her mouth hungrily, sweetly, and lingeringly.

She bucked against him, wanting, needing more immediately. He had already built up her hunger to a point where she wanted to scream his name and did in fact release a long, low groan. He whispered words into her ear that made her tremble. He touched her in places that made her want to take his huge manhood in her hands and direct it inside her...

"Now... Breslyn... now..." she encouraged.

"No. I want to enjoy you... enjoy this... our first time..."

She moaned and worked her body against his, teasing him, tempting him, taking his hand and putting it between her thighs... and telling him, "Please... please... now..."

"No..." he whispered as he worked a finger inside her wet lips, then two fingers, rubbing at the clit and making her arch up high. And then he grabbed the apex between her thighs with one large, strong hand and vibrated her there until she cried out with pleasure and climaxed so completely that the experience made her shudder over and over again.

He didn't hesitate as he set his cock to her lips. "Want that, Chartelle? Want it now? Show me what you want... you sweet beauty, you."

She sat up and made him roll over onto his back, and then she went down on him, taking his huge, throbbing cock and licking it up and then down and then sucking at the tip. Then she sucked it into her mouth nearly to her throat before she stroked with speed and hunger as she moved it about in her mouth. He made a primal sound and had her in his arms and on her back as he positioned himself and said, "Now... beauty... now..." and rammed her hard and fast.

He worked her until she climaxed again, and when she did, he allowed himself relief. Then, without pausing he had her on her hands and knees on the bed, saying, "I am going to please you until you can take no more..." And then he was slamming into her again and releasing her beast... and it was good... so good!

~ Three ~

THE SOUND OF one horse pounding earth as it runs in a full gallop is such to make a man look and admire. The sound of nearly four hundred hooves putting turf away as one unit is a thunderous onslaught that can make a man tremble in awe. The sight of those same horses coming over the ridge, carrying their riders and packs of supplies, is majestic beyond description and captures the senses and tickles the imagination.

Breslyn, Royal Prince of Dagda of the Seelie Fae, sat high in his saddle, his snowy gray stallion watching and taking his mood from him just out of the way of the barrage of horses and riders. He was proud of all his months of work, for it was the Knights of Templars that now made their way to Robert the Bruce and Dunhottan Bray Keep.

This day would not have been possible without him, and he felt a swelling of pride. He had used forethought and initiative and Fae magic. It was interference at its very worst... and when his queen discovered what he had done, there would be holy hell to pay. The punishment he was prepared to handle, but at the thought of the severe and unending lecture he would receive from Aaibhe, Queen of the Seelie Fae, he rolled his silver eyes. It would be worth it, though... damn bloody well worth it!

The Knights of Templars had been chosen by the queen as worthy to care for some of their most treasured artifacts. The Fae had in fact enjoyed a harmonious relationship with the Templars.

When the French king and France's church began throwing the Knights into prison and confiscating both their enormous wealth and the Seelie Fae artifacts, Breslyn had decided on his own that he wasn't interfering but taking care of Fae Court business. He had even convinced Aaibhe of this a year ago, and she had allowed him to visit with the Templars and help many of them escape.

Thus, that was what he did... and perhaps a bit more. The Knights knew who and what he was and immediately gave him their allegiance. He asked them to expand that allegiance to Scotland and the rightful King of Scotland, Robert the Bruce. They agreed, and he had helped them escape to Scotland with a great deal of their wealth and many Seelie artifacts safely in tow.

They had been diligently training Robert's ragtag army in the art of sword fighting, jousting, and military strategy. Now the seventy Knights and thirty of the most highly trained Scottish soldiers were joining with their Scottish king at Dunhottan Bray Keep to prepare for what they all believed would be the final, telling battle.

Breslyn knew he and Storm would have to be careful. Popular clans, like the MacDougels, who were distant Comyn relatives, still grumbled about Robert the Bruce and held John Comyn as their true King of Scots. Comyn's clan had been nearly destroyed over the years; however, Breslyn knew that some of his relatives, such as Francis Bouthe of Dumfries, still owed him their loyalty and met with him at Comyn Castle, where he still resided. However, word was spreading throughout the Scottish community about Comyn's friendship with Edward, King of the Brits, and both Breslyn and Storm believed the tide was changing in the favor of Robert the Bruce.

Breslyn rode into the keep's courtyard and was heartily greeted by the Knights just dismounting and getting settled. He jumped nimbly to his feet and spread his hand wide over the soldiers' white shirts, turning them bright, blazing yellow. His magic was held in awe by the knights and furthered his standing with them. He smiled and told them gravely, "You will dye all the soldiers' shirts this color—we want them to see us coming!"

A roar went up, and Breslyn grinned. As the chatter and laughter sprang spread amongst the men, he turned his gaze towards Belfor and thought of Chartelle, whom he had left sleeping. It was time he returned to her.

* * *

Chartelle rolled over with a pleasurable sound and reached out for Breslyn, but of course, he wasn't there.

He had kissed her hours ago and told her he wouldn't be gone long. She sat up and stretched, pleasure filling her mind and her heart as she remembered the things he had done with her body.

She rang for a hot bath and, once this was done, luxuriated alone and quiet in the hot, assuaging water before getting up and lacing herself into her gown. The hour was still early and the castle servants only just getting into their normal routines. Everything seemed different somehow, brighter, livelier, sweeter...

A visit to the nursery found John playing happily with Nanny and about to go to the kitchen for their breakfast. Chartelle smiled and asked the nanny to go on without her as she needed to visit with her 'cousin' in the blue chamber.

* * *

Alex looked up from the gown Chartelle had left her. It was about six inches too long, and she giggled as Chartelle clucked and came forward with the pins. This was a quick and easy job, and when it was done and Alexis was tightly laced into the blue silk, Chartelle eyed her approvingly and said, "Oh... you'll do, Alexis... and I am anxious to witness my brother's face when he claps eyes on you!"

A few moments later, with their heads together and happy giggles carrying them forward, they went in search of Storm MacClean.

Storm had been plotting out various routes on his map for the event he, Breslyn, and Robert the Bruce had planned for the near future. At the sound of the women he hurriedly rolled the parchment and put it away. When he looked up, his mouth dropped, and although he tried to say something, anything—nothing came to mind.

Chartelle noted her brother's reaction and watched him with silent amusement. It was obvious from his intake of breath that he found the 'new' Alex quite exquisite. She was pleased. Storm had been all about the 'cause' and overseeing their estates and had not shown any lingering interest in a woman. It was time he did.

He was always in control, and thus it surprised her to watch him stare at Alexis, look her up and down, and then repeat the eye exercise.

_Well, well_ , she thought, _what do we have here?_ She smiled at Alex encouragingly and sighed contentedly, for the petite woman was in fact quite a beauty. She wore her silky, thick, and long black hair unfashionably loose and had pointed out to Chartelle when she had objected that it was not so very different from her own style.

Chartelle had laughed and was pleased, for Alex definitely had a mind of her own, just the kind of mind that could withstand her 'controlling' brother.

She watched Alex play with the folds of her blue silk and wondered if this petite beauty would be the one to catch and keep her brother interested. He was, Chartelle knew, very popular with the ladies... all sorts of ladies, but he never stayed with one overlong.

After pinning the blue silk gown up and tying the lacings just a bit tighter, she and Alex had been well satisfied with the results. Apparently, her brother was satisfied with the results as well, Chartelle thought smilingly to herself.

Alexis's skin was creamy smooth and glowed with the vibrancy of youth. Her eyes were large and a clear bright shade of gray. It was also obvious to Chartelle that Alexis was extremely excited and full with anticipation for her new day. She could see a touch of color in her new friend's cheeks as she blushed hotly and turned away from Storm's inquiring eye. She so hoped her brother wouldn't ruin the morning for Alex, as she could see he had suddenly withdrawn his interest. _How very irritating_ _he could be!_

"Well, well... aren't we looking lovely out of our disguise." Chartelle could see the poorly hidden meaning was not lost on Alexis, who frowned and bit her bottom lip.

However, as Chartelle watched Alex, her concern eased. She knew Alex had been an only child and as such had matured and taken on many responsibilities early on. This one, thought Chartelle with a tiny smirk, would know well how to manage her brother.

Alex put up her chin. "I don't think you meant that as a compliment so I shan't thank you."

Chartelle laughed right out loud, and a hand went to her tummy as she moved across the room to the serving wall table and poured milk. She went first to Alex and served her also, handing her a plate laden with cakes. "There, dear, you must be starving."

Alex took the plate with a soft, hushed _thank you_ and moved to the small, round table near the window. She pulled a chair close to it and immediately began savoring the first bit of food she had had since noon the previous day.

Chartelle handed her brother a cup and nudged him to take it in hand as he was so engrossed frowning at Alex through narrowed blue eyes that he hadn't noticed her standing there with it.

He took up the cup and whispered quietly to his sister, "Is that gown not too... low-necked for someone her age?"

"Nonsense—she is nineteen." Chartelle nearly chortled as she could see her brother could not draw his gaze away from Alex's full and perky breasts.

Storm saw his sister's 'look' and pulled himself up. He hissed, "This is a mistake."

"Is it? I thought that since you have so many suspicions, you could keep an eye on our little Alex while the two of you talk out those suspicions. I must go to my son." Without another word, Chartelle picked up the ivory skirts of her gown and left Alex and Storm in the library to warily eye one another while she joined her son and nanny in the kitchens.

* * *

Alexis immediately felt and reacted to his sharp, disapproving gaze. She made a decision to ignore it and him and lost herself to the delicious cakes and the warm, soothing milk. She couldn't restrain the moans and groans of pleasure as she devoured her food and licked icing off her fingers.

Storm seemed helpless to look away, and when she licked her fingers he thought he would choke. He told himself he was a cad because he immediately got a hard-on and wanted to stride over, kiss the icing off her lips, and nibble on down to the ridge of those full swells at her bodice _. Damn, but she is exquisite_. He cleared his throat and attempted to alleviate his discomfort with conversation. "One wouldn't think a tiny thing like you could have put away so much so fast."

"That is because 'one'," she said, pointing at him, "probably had a substantial meal last evening and then again this morning, while I have not eaten since noon yesterday when your sister managed to have a plate of ham and bread prepared for me in the kitchens."

She could see that he felt something, perhaps some form of empathy, and then he said, "I did in fact go without food for three days last month when the Brits engaged us in a skirmish... and I know how damnable the feeling is." He sighed. "We were cut off from our supplies. Couldn't get to them right off. It took us a bit before we downed enough, and then burned the fight out of the Brits so that the ones still standing ran for cover." That memory seemed to please him, as he grinned broadly.

Alex frowned at him. "Well, then you know... 'tis most uncomfortable to be hungry and not know if you will eat again anytime soon."

"Shall I have Cook bring you in some eggs and meat?" Storm frowned as he thought of a young woman, this young woman, going hungry because the Brits had confiscated her home.

She sighed and patted her flat belly. "I don't think I could eat anymore just now."

He came over to sit across from her and asked bluntly, "Who was it stormed your home so boldly? Did you recognize them?"

"No, I knew them not. However, I heard the soldiers call the man giving the orders the Earl of Gloucester. He was tall and rail-thin and had a very long nose. I will kill him one day."

Storm's brow rose. "Will you? Because he put you out of your home?" He nodded. "I can understand that."

"No. I will kill him because he was the man that killed my father. He had my father held by men on either side of him, and he stabbed him over and over again with his long sword."

Alex saw sympathy in his eyes, but obviously it did not extend itself to his words, as he asked suspiciously, "How do you know this if you were hidden in the stables?"

"You are not very trusting—why is that?" Alex shrugged her delicate shoulders and then regarded him sadly. "It was what I was told... we did have loyal servants, and they were the ones who told me as they helped me escape in the back of the wagon they drove into the village."

"What made you come here to Belfor... _truth now."_

"I was told that the clan MacClean are loyal to our King Robert the Bruce. I hoped... that someone here might in time find a way to help me."

"You seem to know what this Earl looks like—is that also from a description?"

Alex looked into his beautiful, bright blue eyes. There was soul there, deeply caring, and she saw something else. She saw his glance soften as his eyes quietly traveled over her, and she felt a shiver speed up her spine. She tried to concentrate on her answer and did so with an effort. "No... I saw him in our courtyard as we left with the wagon. I heard one of his men say his name. I shall never forget what he looked like."

"It is the Brits' habit to offer up home and land they have swallowed for themselves in exchange for... _services of value_. How can I be certain you were not offered a deal for your cooperation?"

"How could I cooperate, even if I wanted to, which I don't?" She shook her head and regarded him angrily. "I am but a woman—how would I be privy to _your plans_?"

"Women do have their ways. Is that why you are parading yourself before me... with your bodice so low?"

"You are mad! First of all, this is your sister's gown as I had none, and it is not so very low." Alex looked down at her breasts for the truth of this and then blushed hotly and then averted her gaze.

He stood up and suddenly pulled her out of her seat. "Do not play your innocent games with me, Alex, for I am past such wiles."

"I don't know why you don't believe me... and I don't care." She yanked out of his hold and started off.

He grabbed her arm again, and she turned to stare angrily into his eyes. He said with a low growl, "I will not care that you are a woman, if I find you have been deceiving me. Are we clear on that?"

She yanked out of his hold once more and stomped off. "We are clear... and don't you ever grab me like that again, Storm MacClean." She made it to the doorway, and she didn't know what made her turn for a final stare down, but to her surprise she caught an appreciative smile curving his sensuous lips.

* * *

"Walk with me." Chartelle smiled up at Breslyn wonderingly. How could he be so devastatingly handsome? How could his silver eyes glitter and take her away as they did? Was this love... and who was he really? He seemed more—so much more than a man could be. Why did she feel sparks when they touched? Why did she want always to have his lips on hers... his fingers on her skin...

He put her fur-lined black wool cloak around her shoulders, and their eyes met as she pinned it in place. She stared at him as he flung a length of his own cloak over his left shoulder. He vibrated with strength and power, and oh, yes... she did love him.

He took her hand and put it to his lips. "Yes... a walk to ease the effects of my confession."

She felt a moment's fear. What did he have to confess? Was he leaving? Was he about to go away? Would she never see him again? She would rather die than never see him again. "A confession?"

He laughed and held her shoulders. "You love me—how can you not? And yet, I must ask before I confess, do you love me enough?"

She reached up and slapped his chest. "Enough for what? Confess immediately or be done." She saw his startled expression and wondered if a woman had ever slapped him even in play before. She giggled and added, "I know I certainly made love to you enough that one might assume I love you enough for anything!"

He grinned widely, took her hand, and pulled her along. As they left the feudal castle grounds and casually walked the deer path into the piney woods, Breslyn stopped and turned her to him. "It is the time for truth."

"Truth?" She felt herself tremble with fear.

"Should there not be truth between us? I wish it so."

"Yes... no secrets," she said on a hushed note. Was he married? Was he engaged to be married? Was he going away? _Oh_ , she prayed. _No, please! I can't lose him..._

"I have lived a very long time, Chartelle—longer than you know—and in those years, I have experienced many things... but never what I feel now."

This was good news. Was it not good news? Why then did she fear? "Yes, go on... I hear in the silence... so much more."

"Immortality brings with it tedium and ethics that are so very different than your human culture's modes and moralities."

"I don't understand."

"You will... I will make you understand, because I want you and will care for you... and you have to know."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Humans are here and now and full with gusto because there is no time... human life is so short..."

"Yes... too short?" She frowned as she looked long into his eyes, and then, _she knew._ She had always known. She had seen it from the start, that 'otherworldly' in his eyes. She was a Scot, daughter of a Druid high priest, sister to the heir to the duties of a Druid high priest. She had been raised on those traditions and legends, and she believed because her father and brother had reason to believe. It had been their duty, the duty of the clan MacClean Druid priests, for centuries to maintain the four yearly rituals and keep the human world safe from the dark monsters of the Dark Realm.

"You know," he answered her quietly. "But I suppose you need to hear it from my lips. I am Breslyn... _your_ Breslyn still, and I am also a Royal Prince of the Tuatha Dé."

She closed her eyes and whispered, "Of course you are."

And then...

* * *

Breslyn's two huge fists went into the air as he roared to the heavens with his joy. He had confessed what he was—who he was—and she had accepted it.

He had thought he would have to court her, humble himself, promise her things, perhaps promises he would not be able to keep. Unlike most of his kind, Breslyn would not have liked to break a promise.

He took her into his arms and whispered softly, "Let me show you my home."

"No... I have heard time does not work the same. I will not get lost in your time and miss too much time from my son."

"Your son and his nanny await us there already."

"How...? What will Nanny think?"

"She will not remember it when she leaves. She will remember that we all enjoyed a picnic, nothing more, but John will remember it all his life."

"And is that a good thing?"

"It can be. Let me take you there... now," he whispered into her ear. He held her tightly as he shifted them to his private island retreat.

Nanny sat on a blanket under a palm tree with young John, who was playing with an array of toys spread out around him. He clapped and laughed to see his mother and Breslyn, who watched as Chartelle went to him, took him into her arms, and showered his face with kisses before she set him back down. Satisfied and tired, her son dropped off to sleep, and the nanny followed suit.

Breslyn took Chartelle's hand and led her down a beach whose sand was pinker and softer than any sand found on earth, under a sky bluer than any sky ever seen by most men. When they were out of sight, he turned her and took her into his embrace. The electric connection was immediate.

She closed her eyes as he held her, and when she opened them it was to stare at the lush green foliage and the color of the flowers, to listen to the song of the unusual birds. She whispered, "Breslyn, can this be real? Nothing looks real... it looks painted, as though this world were a painting come to life."

He flicked a finger, and a blanket was spread out on the sand. She smiled and sighed. "Dreaming... I am dreaming... or am I really in the land my ancestors spoke of? Is this Faery?"

"Aye, the Isles of Tir, but my home is on a private island in Faery." He moved his finger again, and she stood naked before her. Her clothes lay relegated to the blanket, his own beside hers. One hand was on her breast, the other directed her hand to his dick, and she didn't need any persuading as she began stroking it with a passion that made her feel wanton and happily lost to sensation.

"By Danu... there is nothing more beautiful in my life than you," he said as he tipped her face to his.

She sucked in air, and her finger moved from his throbbing, dancing manhood and traced the tattoo of runes and Celtic knots around his bicep. She pressed her body sensually against his own and began grinding tantalizing, invitingly. He took up the invitation. He lifted her up and whispered, "Wrap your legs around me..."

She did, and being Breslyn he maneuvered himself and was inside her. "Ride, sweet love... ride... hard... ride me..."

And she did, reveling in the motion, in the flurry of heat, and the wave after wave of pleasurable tentacles of satisfaction. "Breslyn..." she whimpered as she reached her peak.

"Yes, woman... let go... I'll bring you to it again..."

And with a shout of exquisite release, she did let go, and then as he promised he had her on the blanket, where he raised up her legs and brought his face down to the tuft between her legs. He whispered, "I have wanted to taste you all day..."

She grabbed his hair and yanked as she arched her back and exploded. No sooner had she done so than he was driving himself into her again.

He held her butt firmly and high as he took them both to new heights, and she heard him growl, "Mine... always... mine..."

And she knew that she was.

Afterwards she lay in his arms with his chin at the top of her head as he stroked her and whispered words of devotion. She sighed and told him, "A part of me wishes we could stay here always."

"Aye, but I know your son deserves the human life you must give him... and we will give it to him together in Scotland... make no mistake."

"Breslyn, you planned all this... brought Nanny and my son here. How could you know I would willingly come with you?"

"I didn't." He fondled her breast and wondered if his hard-on would ever subside when he was with her. He felt primal, and a feral sound of desire laced his voice as he whispered, "I wanted to make you mine... here... in my world... as I did in yours..."

She looked into his iridescent silver eyes and knew she was his, totally and completely for the rest of her life. His kiss started out gentle... he had only meant it to be affectionate, but it infused him with a heat and a loss of control. He bent from her lips to suckle at her breast and whisper hungrily, "Ready, my sweet... I'm going to fuck you again... and again..."

She felt her body begin to vibrate to his touch, to his words, and she arched to him. All at once, he was frenzied with desire and had her sideways as he pulled her to meet his cock and slam into her hard and fast and then harder still. She screamed with the pleasure he gave her as she stiffened and climaxed. She shuddered, and Breslyn whispered once more, " _Mine_."

"Yes..." she agreed. "Always."

Time on Tir was very different than time on earth, and although he wanted to stay there, keep taking her over and over again, he needed her to be safe, which meant getting her back with her absence undetected. He left her for only a moment, and when he returned, he flicked his finger. In an instant they were bathed and dressed. He picked her up cradle-like, and when she asked for her son, he whispered that the nanny and the boy were already in their quarters at Belfor.

He then shifted into Belfor's Great Hall with her tightly in his arms and stopped to listen. Voices... it was nearly midnight, and yet, there were voices: Storm's and that of another male.

He shifted her quickly to her chambers and had her out of her clothes once more and then into a nightdress as he placed her sleeping form into the bed. And then he shifted outdoors and made a commotion as he entered the Great Hall.

Storm came stomping out of the library, and on his heels was a stocky man of average height and average looks, but whose brown eyes were cold.

"Breslyn, there you are." Storm appeared harassed.

"Why, were you looking for me?"

"No, not exactly, but... Bouthe here... m'sister's husband, was meaning to go above stairs and wake her. He says he must needs speak with her about something immediately."

"At this hour?" Breslyn clucked his tongue.

"My sentiments exactly." Storm had evidently been holding the man at bay, totally aware that his sister, her son, and the nanny were somewhere with Breslyn.

"And by Danu... are they not _his_ sentiments?" He turned the challenge to Francis Bouthe of Dumfries and was disgusted to see the man hem about.

"I merely wished a word with _my wife_..."

Breslyn thought he should put him in the ground rather than suffer the laggard to call her that! He couldn't stop himself from taking a threatening step towards the man, who hurriedly and in some confusion stepped back.

"I have explained that m'sister had a long and tiring day and that she had retired early to her chambers."

"And still the devil wishes to disturb her?" Breslyn's voice was a low throttle of thunder.

Chartelle appeared in her delicate ivy silk robes at the top of the staircase and, yawning into her hand, stared at the men gathered in the Great Hall. "Gentlemen? Francis...? I thought I heard something of a racket... what is towards?"

"Naught, sister... go back to bed. Your husband arrived asking to speak with you, and I advised him you retired early and were much fatigued."

"Ah, then I shall see you at breakfast... Francis." She nodded to the man who called himself her husband and then made a show of yawning. "Do try not to shout, gentlemen, or my son will waken and it will be the very devil to get him back to sleep again—I think he is coming down with something."

There, she thought, that should send Francis scurrying off. He was always worried about catching some childhood illness from his son. She sent a glance towards Breslyn, who returned it with a lazy move of his thick eyelashes, and then with a soft smile, turned on her heel and left them.

~ Four ~

BRESLYN STOOD IN another dimension and watched Francis Bouthe of Dumfries as he moved down the hall to Chartelle's room. The prince he rolled his eyes heavenward and said under his breath, "If 'tis banishment I must endure, Aaibhe, my Queen... then so be it, because this one... this human shall not live to hurt my Chartelle!"

"And if he dared do such a thing... what then, my Prince? Would you break every edict I have ever installed... would you kill a human?"

Breslyn turned as Aaibhe, Queen of the Seelie Fae, stepped out of her cloud of gold dust. She glided to take a stand before him and raise a delicate brow.

She was beyond beauty and grace. She was ethereal, tall, and radiant with wisdom untold. She stood and awaited his response.

He gave her a question as an answer. "You allowed the Trackers to do so when we aided the Scots in l308. Is it acceptable to interfere with and kill them during their wars?"

"Not acceptable, but war... is a different matter. There are things at times that need managing."

"And I should allow this pig to abuse my chosen woman?"

"Of course not, but then, you are a Royal Fae. You have magic and intelligence that are at your disposal. Could you not think of a more befitting punishment than death?"

Breslyn thought about this and grinned wickedly. "Aye, then, my Queen... I could."

"That does not necessarily mean I appreciate what you have been up to these last six months and more."

"What does it mean then?" he prompted.

"Only this—I am, for the moment, willing to overlook your 'rule breaking' because now and then the fates need tweaking."

"Explain," he said, and then he remembered his manners and added, "my Queen."

"Meaning that I am pleased that the Templars have agreed to fight with the Scots." She inclined her handsome, golden head of ankle-length hair. "Well done." She reached over and touched his shoulder. "And I am pleased that you are here with our next Druid priest, Storm MacClean."

"Are you... why?" Breslyn studied her closely.

"He has trained under his father, and I believe his powers are even greater than his sire's ever were. He is given to the art, whereas his father had always been a reluctant priest. In his early years I had to show myself to him to make him believe in the duties and skills that were in his blood. At any rate I fear the Laird of Belfor is near his end. It will be good for Storm to have you there at that time."

"MacClean is a favored Druid priest then?"

"His line is very favored, and the future... far... into the future we must see a descendent of this MacClean. We will need that descendent one day. Thus, it is my desire... that you watch over our young priest. I expect you to take this seriously. This is not for your amusement, and it is why I have allowed you to entertain yourself so flagrantly with human matters. When Storm MacClean goes into battle, you will be his guardian angel... so to speak." She cast her prince a devilishly amused smile.

"You _wish me_ to interfere?" Breslyn was incredulous.

"As it happens... it is meant. MacClean must live and prosper... for his progeny in the future will be needed."

"And you excuse your own interference... _how?_ "

"I am your queen, and I have the power of 'sight'. Sometimes the future wafts through my mind and tells me what is needed in the present. When that happens, anything I do is, of course, predestined and not interfering at all."

"Aye, but damn convenient." Breslyn snorted.

* * *

Alexis was curled up on the sofa with her needlework when Storm strode purposefully inside. He stopped short when he saw her, and they exchanged wary glances.

"And good morning to you, Storm MacClean." Alex broke the tension of the silence.

"Oh, aye... and you... has it been a good morning for you, lass?"

Alex put down her needlepoint and rose to her daintily slippered feet. She smoothed the green silk around herself and stepped towards him. She nearly laughed to see him step backwards.

"What are you doing, lass?"

"What can you mean?" she answered, all bright-eyed and seemingly innocent. She knew what she was doing. She was trying to get him to see her for who she was, not for the spy he thought her. She didn't know why, but it chafed that he thought so very ill of her. She moved in closer now because, _faith_ , but he looked so handsome with that 'frightened' look on his face. "Are you afraid of me, Storm MacClean?" As she asked the question she wondered what he would think if he knew the truth about her.

He made a grumbling sound deep in his throat and stood his ground. "It isn't you I am afraid of... but myself."

She was very nearly pressed up to him as she strained her neck and looked up at his handsome face. "What are you afraid yourself might do?"

"I know I should spank you... but damn, lass... I canna... because all I can think to do is this," he whispered as he reached for and took her into his arms. He bent his head down and nipped a kiss at her lips. Finding her willing, he returned his mouth to hers for more, much more.

Alex melted against him and knew what she had suspected from the start: Storm MacClean was the 'one' for her. Her father had always told her that she would know when the 'one' came along. She felt a sizzling sensation speed through her blood, and someone in her head was shouting, _Yes, yes, yes_.

His hand moved over her bodice and dipped beneath the silky folds to find her breast and fondle it. Alex felt her knees buckle beneath her. He made a joyous sound and whispered at her ear, "I have you, lass... I have you..."

"Have me," Alex answered simply. "You have me..."

It was morning, broad daylight, and servants were hustling and bustling around the castle with their daily chores. He set her from him and pointed. "Doona move!" His Scottish burr had suddenly thickened. He hurried to the door and bolted it. When he turned and found her still standing there, he breathed a long intake of air. "Ah, lass... lass... I have been wanting you from the moment you walked in transformed into a woman..." Then he had her once more in his arms.

"Show me," Alex said tentatively, wondering what she was doing. She had to tell him... he had to know what she was...

He had her gown off quickly, easily, and his own clothes flung off. All the while he was kissing and nibbling at her neck, her shoulders, her nipples. Then he was lowering her to the rush carpet, positioning her gently onto his leathers as he continued to run his magical hands over her body. "You know, my _darlin' spy_... I am a Druid... and have abilities... like _staying power_. Are you ready for me?" He whispered these words into her ear as his hand clutched at the tuft between her thighs and vibrated her until she was grinding against his touch.

Alex released a squeak of pleasure. "Yes... stay... power... yes..."

A soft laugh escaped him as he took her hand and ran it over his hardened, throbbing manhood. "Be certain, or say me nay, lass..."

"Certain... very certain." Alex moved into him in case he didn't understand. This was her first time. Other than an occasional stolen kiss from a few visitors bent on courting her, she had never given herself to a man. She had no idea what to do, but instincts seemed to drive her—and at that moment she was driven.

Storm positioned his dick and rubbed it along her clit until she cried out with desire, "Oh... yes... that..."

"And this?" he teased as he inserted it further and made it dance inside.

"Yes, and more..."

"You are so tight... and I don't want to hurt you... let me ease it in..."

"No... no easing... in... go in... Storm... now!"

He did what she asked, and he whispered, "I no doubted it, lass... but even so, it makes me wild with pleasure that I am your first because... Alexis of Waverly, I shall be your last... and only."

"My first and only..." she whispered back at him, and at that moment she forgot she held a secret from him still.

* * *

Chartelle heard a light knock at her father's bedchamber door and called out softly, "Come in..." Her face fell when it was her husband who stepped into the room, and she made no attempt to hide her displeasure. When last they spoke, their words had been harsh to one another.

"Chartelle, I must speak with you."

"Not now, and, no, in case you care, my father does not fare well," she answered him disapprovingly.

"No...? I am sorry to hear it." He frowned and glanced at the aged, white-haired man lying sleeping in his bed. "But I still must speak with you."

"Later," she almost hissed. She wanted him to leave her be. She knew what he wanted, and it made her ill that he thought she would do such a thing for him.

"If you insist on avoiding me, I shall have no choice but to take my son and return to Dumfries," he threatened.

Chartelle leapt to her feet and rushed towards him. She had to control her words. She had to keep him from knowing how his threat had frightened her. He was a seated laird, one with some powerful allies. He had the power to take her son from her. She had to bluster, and she did it with her green eyes flashing. "Do you think you could leave Belfor with my son against my wishes? Do you think _my brother_ will allow it? Our soldiers are triple the size of your garrison. Is that what you want, a fight with Belfor, and the clan MacClean? For I promise you, Storm would not shrink to give you one!"

There—what would he do now?

He was a weasel of a man without backbone, but Lord Comyn had promised him much for his help in the war. Comyn wanted the Brits to win, for Edward had a place for him in the new regime. He and his cousin Bouthe of Dumfries were Scots, both; however, their loyalty was not with Robert the Bruce, but with Edward II of England. Thus, Francis reached out and made the mistake of taking Chartelle's shoulders in his rough grasp and shaking her. "Chartelle, I am your husband. Your loyalty must lie with me... and all I want—"

A cane came out of nowhere and smote him across his back. He yelped and jumped away, and both he and Chartelle saw her father in his nightdress, his white hair disheveled and his blue eyes bright with wrath as he stood and waved his cane about. "Near death I may be..." he rasped, "but not dead yet! How dare thee mishandle my daughter in my presence! How dare thee! Get thee out of my sight!"

Chartelle went to her father's side, holding him, leading him against his will with cooing and loving noises to his bed. Her husband scurried out of the room, only to find himself staring up at a mountain of a man.

He had a moment when ancient gray eyes stared long and hard as Breslyn decided perhaps it was time to plant the man in hell—not kill him, but present him with something worse than death. However, Francis Bouthe was spared at that moment in time as Breslyn heard his woman wail out, "No, Father... No... Don't say it... You didn't know... couldn't know..."

Breslyn rushed inside the room and found the old laird breathing his last. "I am sorry... my dearest girl... sorry I gave you to sech as he..."

"Stay with me... Don't leave yet... Da... Don't..."

But the old laird was gone, and as Chartelle sank her head on his chest and sobbed, Breslyn came to stand behind her with his hand on her shoulder, lovingly offering her his support and all that he could give.

Storm arrived on the scene, passing Bouthe of Dumfries in the doorway. He saw his da and made an involuntary sound as he rushed to his father's side and put his head onto his father's limp hand. Chartelle hugged her brother, and Breslyn knelt and hugged them both.

Alexis had followed Storm up the stairs, and she watched the scene from the doorway. A sob escaped her lips, for it was like losing her own father again. She ran to the bed and fit herself into the huddle, and the moment was both tragic and beautiful as the four beside the bed grieved, bonded, and comforted one another.

* * *

Huddled in grief with his humans, Breslyn wondered what organ in his body was aching so. Humans and Fae alike believed the Fae anatomy did not house an organ similar to the human heart, and yet... Breslyn knew a sensation that scoured through his body and made some organ in his chest ache and hurt and crack...

_Death is everywhere for humans_ , he thought sadly. _They deal with it nearly all the time. They cling to one another, need each other, set up their lives so that it will be nearly impossible to go on without one another, but then they must do just that. Death—is a constant threat, ever ready to steal away someone they love..._

Humans had the fortitude to deal with death. It was one of the many things Breslyn admired about them.

The prince's thoughts bumped into one another, and again he felt that aching sadness burn inside him as something in his chest exploded with grief, throbbed, mended, and then throbbed again. He loved his humans.

He did what he could to comfort Chartelle in the hours after her father's passing, and finally he told her, "There, sweet life, you need to go and spend some time with your father's namesake... your young John. No tears... he is too young to understand."

She swiped at her tears and released a shaky sound. "You are right of course... I am being selfish giving in to this self-pity. My father's health had left him, and he was weary of life. I know this is a blessing... I know and yet..."

"Go on now... You may still catch young John before he takes a nap." Breslyn encouraged her as he pulled her towards the nursery and opened the door for her to go in. He saw her inside, and when he turned away, his face displayed the grimness of his intent. He meant to seek out Francis Bouthe of Dumfries...

He went to his bedchamber and there did a scan for Bouthe. He found him riding hard and fast into Comyn Castle. _Well, well_... Breslyn mused, _just what is he planning to do with a_ known Brit sympathizer, _hmm?_

Breslyn shifted to another dimension. Spreading his hand, he opened the curtain of clouds to receive a very clear picture of Laird Comyn standing half-naked in the middle of a circle, in the middle of a dungeon chamber. Ragged tattoos covered his chest, and Breslyn knew at once that this laird had given himself over to the dark arts.

It explained so much. Red Comyn, as he was known, was said to have received a mortal blow at Robert the Bruce's hand in 1306—eight years ago—but to everyone's astonishment he had made an appearance soon after reports of his death. Evidently he was a black sorcerer and could not be easily killed.

This put matters into another light. As a black sorcerer he was no longer completely human, was he? Right, then. Comyn would need to be eliminated in battle, and it might take more than a sword to kill him. Storm would have to be forewarned; perhaps it was time to tell him... show him just who he was.

As Breslyn watched Francis Bouthe of Dumfries being taken into the dimly lit dungeon, he felt a wave of hatred. He watched the man fumble over himself, obviously in a state of great fear.

"My laird... I have come to advise you that while I don't have any particulars... I was able to glean from servants' chatter that Storm MacClean and the Scots are indeed working with the Knights of Templar. I think they plan an attack... soon," Francis hurriedly told Red Comyn.

"What are you telling me that I don't already know, fool?"

"That they have the Knights... and the magic Hallows the Templars own... on their side. Will it not better equip us to know that?" Francis knew he was making a show of it. He knew he was not telling Comyn anything new, but he didn't want to appear a failure.

"Did you think I did not already suspect that?" Comyn shook his head of silver-streaked black hair. "What of the girl? The earl tells me that while they tried to have him believe she was dead, he discovered otherwise."

"I only know of one recent and odd circumstance out of the ordinary at Belfor. I am not privy to the inner workings there, and my sources are gossips and cannot tell me for certain, but the servant chatter usually is founded in truth." He sighed and then further explained, "Apparently a very odd child... a boy... showed up at Belfor a few days ago but has since disappeared." He worked his fingers together nervously and added, "And... there is quite a little beauty staying at Belfor. No one knows how she arrived or when, but the boy left and the woman arrived. I learned that the MacCleans are claiming her as a ward of the old laird..."

Comyn's black eyes narrowed, and he said on a hushed note, "I do not believe in coincidences and strange boys appearing and disappearing. Find out more of this girl, because I _cannot_ have the Waverly woman alive!"

"I agree, but we have to be careful. The Scots that mean to follow you into battle would not like the only child of Waverly thrown out of her home. There is already a bit of unrest regarding the Brits taking over Scot property."

"Aye, but I needed the earl's garrison and could only be certain of him and his soldiers if I delivered Waverly Castle into his hands."

"Right then, I shall arrange to have something done about this so-called 'ward'." Bouthe turned to leave, hesitated a moment, and asked, "I cannot openly return to Belfor..."

"Then demand your wife attend you. You still are her husband."

"I am, but—"

"Find a way and get her out of there. We may be able to use her."

"Aye then."

Breslyn wanted to shift in and finish them both with his own hands; however, he controlled himself. This had to play out so he could bring all of it to Robert the Bruce and work it into their strategy. These traitors and their followers had to be destroyed during the battle, during the war, for the Scots to come out whole and raise their allegiance to Robert the Bruce. If he killed Comyn now, he would end a martyr, and another would take his place.

However, and in spite of this reasoning, Breslyn was sure of one thing: Francis Bouthe of Dumfries would soon and hurriedly be dispatched to hell... one way or another!

* * *

Chartelle studied Breslyn's handsome face as he looked down at her squirming against his rock-hard body. It had been days since she had lost her father, and Breslyn had made her spend most of those days playing with her son. When the funeral was at an end, Breslyn had suddenly come up behind her. In a whirl of mist that left her heady, he enveloped her in his arms and transported them to her bed.

He had taken her wildly, hotly, used his experience to please her in every imaginable way. He brought out the wanton woman in her and had left her breathless. And then something, a 'feeling' caught her in the gut and made her sit up straight in bed and whisper his name. "Breslyn... my son... something is wrong!"

The prince was up immediately, concentrating. He had been waiting for Francis Bouthe to make a move on Chartelle. He had been ready for that; however, it had not occurred to him that the bastard might be able to get to the boy.

He turned to her, ordered, "Stay here!" and shifted out.

But she couldn't stay. She just couldn't remain still while she had this overwhelming sensation that something was wrong with her son. She was up and throwing on her robes as she opened her door and hurried down to the nursery. She opened the door wide... but no one was there!

Chartelle scurried down the hall and down the huge, wide stairs to the Great Hall just as the door exploded open and the nanny came running in, tearing at her hair under the cloth of her wimple and screaming to her mistress, "They took him! They swarmed down on us from nowhere... and they took him... right in the courtyard! I started to howl, but they knocked the wind out of me when they threw me down..."

Indeed, Chartelle could see the nanny's clothes were black with dirt, and she hugged the woman to herself and commanded, "Enough, Nanny... no more wailing. You will calm down and tell me quietly, slowly..."

By this time Storm had entered the house, exclaiming, "What is towards... everyone is running about outside as though they have gone mad. Where is young John, Chartelle?" He stood however suddenly quiet as he realized the nanny's present state and waited to hear what the poor older woman was saying.

"Two men... wearing the MacClean colors, my lady... I had no reason to suspect them as they came to admire my darling boy... and then, out of nowhere, they were knocking me about and down to the stone, and one of 'em hid the darlin' bairn under his cloak and ran..." She shook her head and wrung her hands. "By the time I got back m'breath... they were gone."

Chartelle turned to her brother. "He has him... he wants me to spy for him, and he means to use my son... Storm—he has my son!"

Alexis arrived from the library where she had been working a needlepoint and took Chartelle's hand. "We will find him... "

"By damn we shall, and I will make a widow of you this day!" Storm raged as he went to the wall and began collecting his weapons.

"Would that you may... but not before you have my son back in my arms," Chartelle said softly.

* * *

Alex touched Storm's linen-covered arm and felt the strength in his muscle She stood away to look up at his face. "You and Breslyn... will find him—I know."

"We will, lass... fear not on that."

She rested her head against his chest, and he held her for a long moment before moving away to hold her by her shoulders and look warmly down at her.

His eyes seemed so full with something she would have called desire, but it looked like so much more. He touched her nose with his finger. "Now listen to me. We are as good as hand-fasted, so I do not hesitate to tell you that you will await me here with my sister. You will not let her leave—"

She stomped her foot. "This is no time to be talking of such things, and I don't recall you asking me to marry you!"

"I don't need to ask... you are mine, and we are as good as hand-fasted, make no mistake on that. And in case you mean to ask, yes, m'father would have been pleased." He took her into his arms and kissed her hard and gustily before drawing away. "I must leave you. My men await me in the courtyard, and make no mistake, we will return with my nephew!" He had already rung the bell for his most trustworthy soldiers to ride with him. He began collecting an array of knives and swords and lining his vest and belt. Alex wondered at the strength of the man to be able to carry so many weapons at one time.

"Yes, of course you will, but I can help... Storm, you need to know something about me... something that will—"

Nanny entered the library at that moment and set up another series of wails. MacClean turned on her to demand, "Stop your caterwauling, Nanny... Go on then... get washed and changed, so that I may put my nephew into your delightful arms when we return."

Chartelle also appeared then clothed in riding attire. She put up a hand to stall her brother. "You cannot deter me. He is my son, and when we find him, he will need me." She looked around and frowned. "Where is Breslyn?"

"He sent a message saying he went on ahead," he brother answered at once.

Chartelle felt a wave of relief. Breslyn would find her son.

Alex watched the nanny sniff and leave the room. Then she turned to Storm with a frown. "Please, Storm... let me join you. I too have grown quite fond of young John and may be of some assistance."

He frowned. "No."

"But why not?"

"It is bad enough I'll have to watch over m'sister... I can't be watching over you as well."

Again she stomped her foot, but his men had arrived. He dropped a quick kiss onto her pouting lips, and she had no choice but to watch them all depart.

Feeling helpless, she grabbed her cloak, fixed it in place, and ran out to watch Storm take the horse that was handed to him, mount, and lead his men out the castle gates.

Storm turned and saw her worried face, but there was nothing he could do. Now his job was to find young John and put Francis Bouthe into the earth!

* * *

Alexis put her hand to her face. What would he think if he knew? Would he reject her? Her father had warned her that the man of her choice had to be told immediately or she could risk losing him.

He was a Druid priest with power that soared through him and touched the power in her. Did he not feel it? Had he felt it and ignored it? His magic had mingled and ignited her own—had he not felt it?

She was going to have to tell him soon, or he would think she had been lying. For Storm there were only blacks and whites, good and evil; there weren't any grays in his color scheme... yet.

She was going to have to soften those harsh points of view he held, but she couldn't do it until she had been honest with him. Her father had taught her to hide what he called her 'gifts' from most people. He had said that people in general wouldn't understand and would hunt her as a _witch._ It was, after all, what she was... a white witch, as had been all the females in her ancestry.

She didn't have a coven. She didn't know all the spells her mother had known. She wasn't immortal. Like her mother, who had died of an awful illness, she too would die one day.

But she had magic in her veins. Storm was a Druid priest, Druid high priest now that his father had passed. He had many magical skills at his disposal, and he served the Seelie Fae. He knew about rituals—he performed them four times a year for the Fae to keep the Prison Walls up against the Dark Fae. He should, must understand what she was and accept it... and if he did not, then in truth he wasn't her true mate.

She followed Storm and his troop of soldiers even as they vanished from sight when they rode over the ridge of the hill. It was horrible to be left behind when she was full of energy, untapped potency, and a desire to do _something!_

She decided to take a walk to work off some of her irritation, and made it as far as the edge of the piney woods at the far end of the first valley. Suddenly all her senses came alive, and she knew she wasn't alone.

She heard something, someone trampling twigs and leaves in the forest, and she stood very still and listened. It was a horse and rider, and everything that she was told her it was not an innocent rider, but one intent with purpose.

She took a step back, and another... the sounds grew louder, and Alex turned on her heel and ran! She felt him at her back even before she turned and saw him. He was large, cloaked, with a low hood covering his forehead and dark material pulled up to his nose. His horse was a dark bay with nervous eyes, and she knew the man was a mercenary... _here for her!_

She recited something under her breath and produced a puff of smoke to deter him as she reached the edge of the forest, where she could make a run for it to the pasture and the road that led to Belfor... there was bound to be someone about. The rider wouldn't dare attack her if people were there to observe... would he?

However, the rider rushed his horse through the sudden dark cloud between them. Then he was upon her, reaching down, scooping her under her breasts and lifting her up in one fell swoop.

It wasn't easy for him, as Alex was a fighter and kicked, punched, and screamed as though a creature possessed. She had seen the nervousness in the horse's eyes and knew all this would frighten him. She did in fact succeed in spooking his horse into a rear and a buck, and as the rider fought to gain control of his horse, she jumped to the grassy earth, fell backwards, and landed with a heavy thump.

Momentarily winded, Alex looked about herself before she was able to jump to her feet and propel herself forward. She held her cloak tightly around herself to keep it from flapping and slowing her down, and she ran faster than she had ever run before. She knew this was life and death...

A wagon on the Belfor road that led to the village! She could see the driver leaning over the reins of his wagon's cob horse. If she could only get him to see her! Perhaps the devil at her back would not wish a witness and give the chase up?

She turned and saw that the masked rider was just getting control over his frightened animal and would soon be charging after her. She wouldn't have time.

She whispered ancient Gaelic words and sent them on the breeze to the driver of the wagon. The man worked at Belfor and was on his way to the village for a list of stores required by Cook. He heard a soft whisper, _Help! I am_ _Alexis_ , on the wind and looked up and around.

He saw Alexis at once and knew who she was. Alex had in the few days she had been at Belfor won the affection of many of the servants. He frowned, for he could see a dark rider closing in on her and instinctively knew the man meant her harm. He began to shout at the top of his lungs, _"Doona... go near her! Stop... you... stop!_ "

Her assailant couldn't hear what the wagon driver was saying, but this he knew was not good. He had not wanted to be observed.

However, he had a job to do and did not wish to bring down Red Comyn's wrath around his head. Everyone knew what Comyn was and how badly he could make one suffer. Two moments of pounding earth behind him and he was nearly on top of Alexis. He was an excellent horseman and managed to slow his horse and jump down even as it was still moving. Still controlling the reins, he brought the horse to a stop and turned on Alexis, who had halted in her tracks and was just about to turn and run in the opposite direction. He flung himself on her, had her down on the ground, and with one fluid movement punched her hard across her head.

Alex felt the blow, felt its effects as she slipped into unconsciousness. Her last magical act before she passed out was to send a message to the wagon driver. Her last thought before she passed out was a conviction that she was going to have to use stronger magic if she was going to save herself...

* * *

It hadn't been difficult to find the idiots who had kidnapped Chartelle's son, and the prince easily could have shifted in, taken John, and shifted out. The two dolts would have been bereft of their senses, which was what they deserved. However, an idea formed and grew in his mind.

He took a moment to get a lay of the land. The two men had set up a campfire of sorts in the dark of the deep woods. There was no reason for them to be stopped this early in the day, and Breslyn could only think this was their intended 'meeting' place with Francis Bouthe. The prince's eyes were alight with anticipation as he surveyed the scene and made up his mind to take it on in human Glamour.

He called for his stallion, who appeared and waited. He jumped nimbly into his saddle and slowly went forward.

It was a whim to take on these fools in human form, but it was one he could not resist. It seemed to fit his mood.

Young John was lying on a blanket some ten feet away from the men. From the sounds he was making, he had not been harmed, but neither was he happy. Already fond of the imp, Breslyn had to halt himself from rushing in and laying the kidnappers low. Instead, he took their measure and quietly steadied himself as the two thugs laughed and drank from a leather pouch, seemingly well pleased with their day's work.

They were comfortable with their surroundings and obviously thought they were well hidden and past all danger as they complimented one another on the neatness of their escapade.

Their smiles froze on their faces as they saw an erupting mountain atop a snowy gray stallion charging them with a gusto that left them bereft of thought. The gray steed snorted and pounded his hooves into the ground, giving the appearance of an animal straight out of hell, and Breslyn looked to be a wrathful god!

They jumped to their feet and backed up into a large pine tree, their hands outstretched as though to ward off the blows they believed were about to befall them. Mewling noises escaped their lips, noises unintelligible with fear.

Young John recognized Breslyn and clapped for him. Breslyn grinned in spite of his anger as he whispered, "Good lad... I'll be with you in one moment."

He could see the babe was cold, hungry, and in need of changing, which further fueled his anger. He turned on the groveling kidnappers...

With a quick movement, he was out of the saddle. With his horse, still snorting and pounding earth, at his side, he put his hand on the hilt of his sword and moved in on the two thugs, saying in a low and menacing voice, "Was it worth the coin, lads? Was it worth the coin?" Saying no more, he grabbed their heads and clunked them into unconsciousness.

The two rolled their eyes as they fell limply to the ground. Breslyn went to young John and took him in his arms to coo and play with his chin and his lips. "There, young lad, there..." He moved a finger, and the child was changed, cleaned, and then wrapped in a blanket against the cold. Another movement, and Breslyn had a piece of bacon for the boy to suck on.

At his back Breslyn heard the sound of thunderous hooves and knew Storm and his soldiers were nearly there. He turned with the child in his arms and saw his own dear heart, Chartelle, riding and weaving through the trees as she made her path to him.

"Breslyn... my own Breslyn... you have him... you have my boy..." Laughing and crying all at once, Chartelle jumped from her horse and ran to take her child into her arms.

The prince's laugh was a joyous sound as he reached for her face, but her son stole the show by saying his first word, and one that had been secretly taught to him over the last few days. "Bres..."

Storm and Chartelle exchanged glances, looked at the prince, and burst into hearty, giddy laughter.

Breslyn grinned broadly. As Storm's men moved to take the two kidnappers in tow he stayed them and moved threateningly towards them. For a moment, everyone held their breath, sure that Breslyn was about to put an end to the lives of the kidnappers. Instead, he ripped off the MacClean plaids the two wore when they had disguised themselves to fit into Belfor Castle unnoticed.

He walked over to Storm astride his bay gelding and said quietly as he handed him the tartans, "Let the one brute go... we can always retrieve him later."

"And why should we release him?"

"Because I have a personal message for his benefactor."

Storm grinned. "Very well then... _brother."_

Breslyn felt a swelling of pride, love, and sudden devotion. _Brother_. This man, Storm MacClean, whom Breslyn had grown fond of, admired, was willing to fight shoulder to shoulder with, had called him _brother_.

For the present he contained himself. He turned to the one cowering man and said, "Get thee to Francis Bouthe wherever he may be and tell him Breslyn of Dagda will see him _a dead man_ for this day's work. _"_

"Aye..." The man trembled as they shoved him towards his ragged horse.

They watched the one man leave in his clumsy hurry, laughed as he nearly fell off his horse, and then looked about themselves. The day had progressed and was close to the gloaming hour.

Breslyn took young John from his mother's arms, easily mounted his stallion, and with Storm and Chartelle on either side of him, rode for home.

Chartelle reached for his hand. "How can I thank you?"

"I shall think of a way..." He grinned wickedly at her and then squeezed her hand lightly to add, "It isn't over... I fear, sweet love, it isn't over."

"Why? What does he want of us?"

" _Comyn_ wants you. He thinks having you will give him an advantage over your brother." Breslyn looked at Storm. "We will keep your sister close... and the lad. We will keep them close."

"By damn we will," Storm returned on a hard note.

"And the little one, the pretty Alexis... best keep an eye out for her, for they want her dead."

Storm froze in his saddle. "What mean you—why?"

"Better for them to own Waverly if she is dead... and the problem is they have found out that she is alive and at Belfor."

* * *

Alexis's head was bobbing. She opened her eyes and felt a moment of dizziness as she looked down on what appeared to be moving turf. No... not moving turf... moving, yes, but it was her head that was moving side to side, back and forth... oh... but she had such an awful headache. In a flash she recalled why she was slumped over a horse with a big, fat oaf in a mask holding her across the saddle.

She pretended to still be unconscious because he was slowing his horse to a halt. She heard the approach of another rider.

"Well done, Ardsley!"

"Aye... but she was the very devil. She fought me like a crazed animal, she did—kicked and carried on. I'm well rid of her, I am, so take her... I'm done, m'laird."

"You aren't done quite yet. Red Comyn wants you to deliver her to him at Comyn Castle."

"That's another five minutes ride... I doona think she'll stay out another five minutes."

"Then wallop her again if you have to. Go on with you. I have to get to Dumfries this evening and prepare my men."

"Right ye are, m'laird... but... I doona think I was paid enough for this..."

"Then I shall pay you more the next time I have need of your services," Francis Bouthe said silkily, wondering if the man would survive Red Comyn, who did not like to leave behind witnesses.

Alexis heard Chartelle's husband ride off and knew she had but one chance. She needed to escape before he got her to Comyn Castle. She had heard rumors about what the laird of Comyn did to people in his dungeons... and her father had once told her he suspected Red Comyn was a black sorcerer. She couldn't allow herself to be taken by him. He would know... sense the witch in her... and might try and use her before he killed her.

_Hell, fire, and brimstone_. She was in trouble and would have to think of something fast... and then she did. It was as though her mother were with her, whispering the incantations through her lips in the powerful, ancient tongue: _Tacht tu tacht tusa tacht_. She kept repeating them.

She smiled as she felt the horse slow and watched as her assailant grabbed at his throat and began pulling away at his cloak. She repeated the words now out loud. " _Tacht tu_ _tacht tusa tacht._ " _Choke you, choke you, choke._

Simple but effective, and she athletically straightened herself on the horse and knocked him clear off. A moment later she had the gelding turned and headed for home. She thanked both her parents—her mother for her magic, which for the first time in her life she was grateful to own, and her father, who, having had an only child, had taught her to fight and handle a sword and herself as though she were a boy!

A hoot of joy made its way on the wind...

* * *

Storm, his sister, and Breslyn had scarcely reached his castle gates when they were met by the wagon master, who was both screaming and wailing at the same time. "He took her... he did... man-handled her... saw it with m'own eyes... he took her..."

"Speak clearly, man... What are you trying to tell me?" Storm demanded with a frown.

"Some fiend has taken Alexis," Breslyn said quietly. "Which direction?" he asked the wagon driver.

The peasant pointed with an accompanying wail. "They were off and gone before I could sound the alarm..." He lowered his head.

"You have done well," Breslyn snapped as he turned to Chartelle. "Go inside and stay with your son." He handed her the sleeping lad and turned to Storm. "We don't need the soldiers... we need stealth."

"Where has he taken her—where, Breslyn?"

"To Comyn Castle." Breslyn had a decision to make as he and Storm turned and left the soldiers at their back. It would be quicker, so much more efficient if he could shift. It would mean he would have to confess to his friend what he was... and what would that mean? It had to be done. When they reached the ridge and were out of view, Breslyn put up a hand and said quietly, "Storm, I can help in a better way, but I am going to have to tell you something... and you are going to have to take my word for it."

"You are a Fae prince," Storm said impatiently. "I have known for some time. I am a Druid priest... gifted by Fae—did you not think I would know... see?"

Breslyn grinned widely and touched Storm's shoulder. "Then get ready to travel Fae-style, my friend." And he shifted them, horses and all, to the woods just outside Comyn Castle.

It took Storm a moment to focus because he thought he saw a wee beauty astride a charging bay coming right at them.

"By Danu, she didn't need our help after all!" Breslyn laughed and gave Storm's arm a rap. "She will make an excellent MacClean, my friend, an excellent MacClean."

Storm was off his horse and pulling her off hers, and Breslyn watched as his friend covered Alexis's face in kisses. He waited only a moment before he said quietly, "Go on now... see her safely home."

"And you?"

"I have business to attend to," Breslyn answered on a hard note.

"Aye then, but 'tis mine as well." Storm gritted his teeth.

"Yours is to see your lady home safely."

Breslyn waited only long enough to see them well away before he sent his stallion home to Tir and shifted quietly into Red Comyn's dungeons. The horror of what he saw there made his nose turn as he displayed himself in all his Royal Fae glory to the black sorcerer.

"Warlock, you will heed me, and if you disobey, you will die by my hand—and it will not be a swift death." Breslyn stood a warrior Prince of Fae, for he had disposed of his human Glamour. His iridescent silver eyes glittered in the dim light, and there was no mistaking the alien as he stepped towards Comyn, who was momentarily bereft of speech.

"What... what...?"

"I am Breslyn, Royal Prince of the Tuatha Dé, and you have infringed on my territory."

"How... what..."

"Anything MacClean is protected by Aaibhe, Queen of the Seelie Fae, and I as her prince make certain anyone who disobeys her wishes is punished." Breslyn's voice was low and hard-edged.

"Fae may not interfere... and you may not kill humans..."

"Not quite human, are you?" Breslyn shrugged. "And there are worse things than death that I may impose on you." He took a step forward, and Comyn stepped back. "You dared not just once, but now twice to do harm to the daughter of Waverly. He died protecting his only child. She will soon be a MacClean, but even if she weren't... _still I_ would protect her."

"These are human matters..." Comyn tried one last strategy.

"Nay, fool... I have told you, anything I deem worthy protection, I shall protect. You are going to die and soon... The only question is will it be at my hand?"

And the prince was gone, smiling to himself as he shifted into the castle to first check on young John asleep in his bed, with his nanny napping in a chair nearby. He then found Chartelle in the garden and took her into his arms. Without a word, he shifted them both to her bed...

* * *

It was on June 23, 1314, on the old road, that everything started to go wrong for the Brits and the Battle of Bannockburn began.

Chartelle and Alexis stood at the Belfor gates and watched Storm and Breslyn ride off in the wee hours of the morning with their garrison of soldiers. They were to meet with Robert the Bruce, the Knights of Templar, and various other clans, and the women clung to one another as their worst fears began to chill them on that bright, cool summer morning. They could only imagine...

Breslyn, his sword raised and giving out a hellish roar as he charged and drove the Brits back, looked around and saw that Storm was in fine form. They slashed and charged, and the Brits were taken by surprise that first day of fighting.

It was with great pleasure that Storm spied the Earl of Gloucester and rode him down; it was with greater pleasure that he brought his long, sharp sword across the Earl's belly and sent him to earth, saying with a shout, "For my wee bonnie lass!" Then, looking like a crazed man, he turned to find Francis Bouthe quietly leading his horse away from the fray.

Storm started off with every intention of running him down, howling, "Traitor!"

Breslyn however appeared on his stallion out of nowhere, and his sword came up to stall Storm's weapon. "I have a better way."

"He needs death!"

"So he does, but not at your hands... not at my hands."

"How then?"

"In battle." Breslyn guided Storm to one side as a troop of faithful soldiers spied Francis Bouthe the traitor and ran him down.

Storm turned to Breslyn and angrily cried, "I would have enjoyed it more if he had perished at my sword!"

"No. His son will grow up knowing his father was a traitor... and that is bad enough."

And so the battle raged on all day and into the night and then picked up once more in the morning. It was then that Breslyn grinned widely and shouted out to Storm, "Now I have something to do that cannot wait!" And he rode off after Red Comyn.

Comyn had been in the act of slipping away from his defeated army when Breslyn came upon him and deterred his progress by knocking him roughly off his horse. Breslyn swung off his stallion and faced him with his sword, demanding, "Pick up your sword, Comyn!"

Comyn shook his head and backed away, his eyes glancing towards Tor Woods; it appeared he meant to try and make a run for it, but Breslyn deemed otherwise. His voice was harsh as he told him, "Devil of a coward... fit only to hurt women and children... PICK IT UP!"

However, Comyn still wanted to run. He needed a moment to swallow a potion he had prepared—one that could only be taken just before it looked like he might be killed, one that would deliver him into another stage of his life and allow the demon inside to prevail.

Breslyn was on him and said softly, "Won't defend yourself, eh? Right then..." And with a mere thought, Comyn was shifted to another dimension, one that would not support his life as he knew it. "Right then... play warlock in hell, Red Comyn."

And thus the second day of the battle saw the Scots with little rest and no sustenance, but at long last the Brits, looking defeated, began dashing about, scurrying for cover.

Breslyn and Storm had never tired as they fought side by side like madmen, giving their men encouragement and hope, exploding the atmosphere with their shouts, ' _Scotland... Scotland—Scotland... forever Scotland_!" until the call was carried by all.

Late into that second day, on June 24, l314, when it appeared the Brits were on the run, the battle cry of "Lay On! Lay ON! Lay On!" was picked up by all, and the Battle of Bannockburn was won!

Edward and his men fled, and the Battle of Bannockburn went to the Scots under Robert the Bruce!

~ Epilogue ~

ROBERT THE BRUCE'S position as King of Scotland was greatly strengthened after that fateful two-day battle, and life at Belfor and Dumfries gently slipped into harmony.

Alexis had taken Storm aside before the battle and confided her magical abilities to him, waiting for the moment of rejection with twisting fingers and edgy feet. However, instead of finding herself repulsed, she was swept into an embrace as Storm covered her in kisses and told her he couldn't wait to see the bairns the two of them would produce.

Breslyn, Prince of Dagda, settled in with Chartelle at Dumfries because she insisted that her son be allowed to grow and prosper at his home. She wanted him to be so much better than his father had been and looked to Breslyn and her brother to set examples for him.

Contrary to the queen's expectation that Breslyn would soon tire of domestic bliss, he seemed to grow and revel in it. He discovered in himself a quiet happiness—a completeness as he played husband to Chartelle and father of a sort to her son.

Young John and Storm's three sons became fast friends, and there was a great deal of back and forth visiting, feasting and laughter between the families.

Over those twenty years Breslyn, prince of Fae, found that he had to maintain something of a double life as he attended to his duties and position on the Isles of Tir. He had a sister, Aida, the equivalent of a human sixteen-year-old girl who, although she had been taken under the Queen's wing, was his responsibility.

He would often be away from Chartelle for days at a time (time in Faery is so vastly different), but Chartelle laughed and told him she never worried. Breslyn was devoted and faithful to her and their life, which she told him was perfect.

Breslyn as a Fae had the ability of shape shifting and the power of illusion, and as Chartelle aged into her fortieth year, he too slowly appeared to age—a thing that disturbed him greatly but that he did for her sake and for appearances' sake amongst the humans around him.

It was in the year young John Bouthe of Dumfries had just turned one and twenty and was taking on more and more of his duties without the advice of his uncle Storm and the overseeing of his stepfather, Breslyn, that things went wrong.

The year before, Breslyn in a moment of weakness had offered Chartelle the elixir of immortality. He had regretted it the moment the words were out. He loved her, loved their life, but his essence had not yet committed to forever, and so he had not insisted and had not tricked her into taking the potion.

She had strongly declined to take it. She did not wish to see her loved ones wither and die while she went on—even for him—and he had quickly accepted her decision. She had smiled at him and touched his cheek. "You don't really wish it, Breslyn. It is merely the gentleman in you."

"But I love you."

"You do... but I am not the 'one'. When you meet the one you want to spend eternity with... you will feel something vastly different than what you now feel."

He had frowned but felt there was no point in arguing with her because a part of him whispered that she was right.

And then the unexpected exploded his happiness and turned his life dark.

* * *

Visiting at Belfor, Chartelle was out riding—a simple thing she did nearly every day just for the sheer joy of being on horseback.

What happened was sudden, it was swift, and it was devastating. Her gentle mare's hoof went into a hole, and the mare went down and rolled, catching Chartelle under her.

A moment later, lame and frightened, the mare was up and racing for home without her mistress. The castle servants put up a terrified shout. Breslyn was in Tir, but her son and brother took to horse and went to her where she lay limp on the grassy earth. She looked up at them, smiled softly, and whispered, "Tell Breslyn I loved him with all my heart..."

And she died.

* * *

For weeks Breslyn rode the countryside like a lunatic possessed. Guilt poured through his veins. He should have insisted she take the elixir. He should have poured it down her throat. He should have been with her—why had he not been with her? Perhaps, he could have healed her...

He screamed her name to the heavens and demanded she return to him. What was the good in being an all-powerful Fae if he could not bring her back?

John of Dumfries quietly grieved over his mother's loss and tried to console Breslyn, but he would have nothing of it. Then one morning as Breslyn sat at the top of the craggy hill Chartelle loved to walk to, his Fae friend Danté, Royal Prince of Lugh, appeared and sat with him.

"What is wrong with you, Breslyn? Please explain."

"She is gone..."

"Yes, but she was human. You knew that. Humans die... Fae do not. You knew that going in. Do you regret having known her?"

Breslyn rounded on him angrily. "How can you say that?"

"You always knew one day you would lose her."

"I wasn't ready—I hadn't had the time to ready myself."

"She gave you what you wanted, did she not?"

"Aye, that and more..."

"Then honor her memory. Chartelle, from what I knew of her, would not have liked to see you this way. Do you grieve still... or is it the guilt? Answer yourself if not me."

Breslyn eyed him under a frown. "It is both, dear friend... It is both."

"She talked long to me once and asked me a favor. She wanted me to tell you something when the time came. I suppose, the time has come. Her words, Breslyn: 'Give him time to grieve when I pass, and then make him return to Tir... to his life amongst his own. He misses that life. I know it, but he cares too much to desert me.'" Danté shrugged. "I have given you time to grieve, and now it is time to do what she asked... return with me to Tir."

* * *

I did what Danté asked, that very day. I returned with him to Tir, where many matters needed my immediate attention—my sister's waywardness for one—and I was kept busy for a time.

The queen chose to ignore my transgressions, and we never spoke of them. I believe she thought my loss of Chartelle was punishment enough.

When next I returned to visit the MacCleans and young John, five years of human time had passed, and they had gone on nicely with their lives. They were overjoyed to greet me, and it felt... right.

However, the Isle of Tir was where I belonged in those days because it was difficult to be with humans... care for humans and then perhaps lose them.

It all remained a vivid memory for me, and Chartelle remained my first human love. The MacCleans remained ever my human family...

But eventually I did move on, although it took me hundreds of years to do.

That... that is a different tale altogether.

###

### Want even more about Breslyn?

### Read his next story in

Prince Prelude

~ Prologue ~

ACCORDING TO THE humans' _Encyclopedia Britannica_ , Fairy is a race of supernatural beings who have magic powers and sometimes meddle in human affairs.

(I must agree, and I meddle more than my brethren.)

It goes on to explain that we are well known in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales and that we are very powerful and sometimes dangerous beings who can be friendly, mischievous, or cruel, depending on our whim. Sadly, it is true.

The human reference advises that we occasionally take human lovers, as the Fae find human sexuality inviting and are drawn to the passion humans possess. However, it cautions, Fae, unlike humans, are immortal. True again.

History has called us the Tuatha Dé Danaan, and we're also known as the Seelie Fae. I should like you to know more about who we are. You see, the truth is we came long before the written word put us in Ireland at 1000 BC, and we are so much greater than the written word can describe. We are, to a one, quite stunning—and I am even more captivating than my peers. In fact, let me describe myself. I am, Prince Breslyn, last male of the Dagda line, which is one of the four Royal Houses of the Seelie Fae.

If you have read the Legend books, or my first novella, then I need no introduction, but for those of you who haven't yet read the series, I will give you a brief description of who and what I am.

As I mentioned, I am a Royal Fae Prince of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. I am a Council member (although I rarely attend the boring meetings). I am well over six feet six inches and taller than most male Fae, who are as a race quite unusually tall and warrior built.

My dark blond hair is long, and I usually slick it back and keep it tethered at the back of my neck with leathers. My eyes are silver, my face chiseled, and I have been described by Fae and human alike as much more than handsome.

I wear a gold torque with the etchings of my Royal House—Dagda—and I like tattoos and wear a band of Celtic knots and ancient runes around my biceps.

What is really important is this: I adore humans, especially female humans.

That gets me into all kinds of trouble with my Queen Aaibhe, who feels that my interactions with humans are a break from our treaty and an infringement on the rules of Fate.

Five hundred years ago I fell in love for the first time with a human. Her name was Chartelle, and we were happy for a time.

When human life and immortal life meet, there is only one conclusion, and when it happens, the one left behind will find himself or herself heartbroken.

We Fae are rumored to lack the equivalent of a human heart. Untrue—I know, because my heart broke, and I grieved and went on missing my Chartelle for centuries.

Those centuries—just about five—were a blur, and had it not been for my young sister and charge, Aida, and her friend Ete, who in later years was appointed to sit on the Council, I think that first depression I felt would not have lifted.

A human friend, one of the MacCleans in fact, said something once to me about 'time healing'. For me that is totally incorrect: time doesn't heal per se, but it does dull the pain of loss, a pain that returns in quiet moments when one least expects it to. I was suffering just such a discomfort when visiting the MacCleans in the year 1814 in their home in Scotland. They were entertaining... hosting a thing they called a 'cotillion', and I looked across the room and saw _her..._

Her name, I was told, was Destinee, and she was exquisite.

In fact, I could not look away. Her long black hair, black as the velvet night sky, was piled in dangling curls around her angelic face. Stars twinkled through the curls. Her heart-shaped countenance was classically beautiful, her eyes almond-shaped and bright blue, her neck long. _By Danu_ , I started walking in her direction, thinking that the silk of her form-fitting Regency gown of blue needed to come off—and I was just the one to accomplish the feat.

She looked up, and our eyes met. I can tell you that I saw her catch her breath; I know I was breathing in short spurts of desire. I bent and took her white-gloved hand and brought it up even as I opened the buttons of the glove, found her flesh, and pressed it to my lips.

She blushed, and her lashes lowered. "Sir! I must object..."

"Must you?" I quipped as I started to introduce myself. "My beauty... allow me to intro—"

She cut me off. "Oh, I know who you are, you are Lord Dagda... Breslyn, in fact. Lady MacClean spoke of you to me only this morning."

"Did she?" I frowned, for although her ladyship and I have been friends for all her life (the MacCleans all know the truth of who I am), I was not sure just what she would tell her female acquaintances.

"Oh, yes... she says that you are the best of all good men."

As one can imagine, I was much relieved, as I had decided that this beauty and I must get to know one another. "And you have the advantage of me—you know who I am, but I do not know who you are."

"I am Destinee LaBlanc..."

I must have frowned, for she blushed. I realized she saw I had heard the gossip; I hurriedly tried to put her at ease. "That is a lovely name and suits you."

"Lady MacClean has been very kind and has offered me a situation here. She, in fact, provided me with the clothes upon my back, for just before my father shot himself to death, he had lost everything... and had even gambled..." She broke off and looked away.

"I know—you needn't speak of it. Yours is not the shame. It is on him. How a father can offer up his daughter...but Lord MacClean put a stop to it and brought you here to his wife, proving once again the worth of the MacClean clan."

"Yes, and I am so happy to be able to assist with the children. They are all wonderful..."

I wanted to take her into my arms right at that moment. I wanted to hold her, kiss her, seduce her, and tear the clothing from her delectable body so that I could ram the hard-on beating in my pants inside her.

I saw at once, however, that she was a delicate flower, and thus, I made up my mind to do something else entirely. I decided to court Destinee LaBlanc.

* * *

The Regency time was an era of fashion, art, culture, and extreme social etiquette. It was also headed for war with Napoleon.

There seemed to be an urgency about the business of hedonism, especially in Brussels, where balls were being given nearly every night in spite of the pending war. And at those balls and soirees, hushed whispers centered on what Wellington was about to do or what information had just escaped the Home Office.

We were removed from the main hub of gossip in Scotland but peripherally interested all the same. I found myself more and more attracted to Destinee as time flew by during my courtship. For the first time in a long time, I wanted the woman, not just the bedding of her. You may ask at some point if I loved her, and to this day, I cannot tell you that I did. I most certainly wanted her...

You may recognize the name Gaiscioch. He plays a major role in the Legend series, and he and I were always at opposite ends of the Council, very much in each other's way. He was a dear friend of the queen's, and yet, I had for centuries sensed an evil in him.

I should have known. I should have realized that day when I walked with Destinee in the village and he appeared and bent over her hand demanding an introduction. She seemed... taken with him.

He had not used compulsion on her, and still she seemed to like him. It troubled me. As I drove her home in the MacClean carriage, she said, "He is very striking with that white streak in his hair... and so very handsome."

"Do you think so?" I felt myself stiffen and wondered how it was that both Fae and human females did not see past Gais's good looks. He wasn't even a royal, but even in Faery, he captured Fae hearts. It annoyed the hell out of me.

She laughed, held my arm, and looked up into my eyes. "Not, by any means, as attractive as you, my big, handsome Lord Dagda."

"Why do you never call me Breslyn?" It was a sticking point between us.

"It would not be seemly. I work for the MacCleans."

"Whatever I wish is seemly," I answered. "Say my name, Destinee... for I have a desire to hear it on your lips."

"No, I shall not cross that line."

"You will say it before this day is done," I answered, much annoyed with her. I clicked the horses forward and into a faster pace.

But I did not see her the remainder of the day, as she stayed with the children in the schoolroom and then later retired to her own chambers, not even emerging for dinner.

I went to Casey—Lady MacClean—and took her hand. "Walk with me, Cass."

She fell into step with me as we took a tour of the halls of MacClean and said, "Ah, has she rejected your offer?"

"My offer? No... I didn't think she was ready, so I did not offer," I answered, a bit taken aback. "Would she reject it if I were to offer?"

"Yes." She touched my cheek. "She loves you and thinks you the most handsome man in all of Scotland, but she is _not in love_ with you."

Oddly enough, I was not hurt. I was taken with her and I wanted her, but love? I don't think I was in love. "I see..."

She laughed and said, "Yes, you do, don't you... this is not the one, my darling Breslyn. She is but a diversion for you. She intrigues you more than any other female of your acquaintance, but you and I... we both know, she is not the one."

I grinned; Casey always made me grin. She was full with child and was due any day, and I found her absolutely lovely. "Aye then, but you are, my sweet..."

"What's that?" Shawn MacClean—a big brute of a Scotsman, Casey's husband, and one of my dearest friends—shouted out as he came down the hall at us. "I'll thank ye to get yer grubby hands off m'woman!"

I didn't know at that moment why Destinee had remained above stairs. I didn't know that she had a visitor who had decided to hurt us both.

I didn't know what Gaiscioch had done...

Until the next morning, when Shawn stormed through the castle and grabbed me by the shoulders to exclaim, "Casey is beside herself! Ye must do something, old friend."

"Anything... what is it?"

"The LaBlanc chit is gone, and she left a note saying that she is off with someone called Gaiscioch."

"Damnation and bloody hell! I'll have his neck for this, I will."

"He is a Fae then?" Shawn asked on a dark look.

"Aye... and for the moment, there be naught we can do... for, Shawn, I fear she went with him of her own free will." I shook my head. "I saw her face when she met him, and I saw the way she looked at him. He didn't compel her... but to leave in this fashion...?"

"He must have compelled her in the end. She would not have gone with him otherwise, would she?"

I wasn't sure at that point, and so I went with Shawn to her room. There I saw the evidence of their night of lovemaking and imagined the promises he must have made her: life eternal at Faery with him.

However, at that moment, a chambermaid came running at us, screaming for Shawn and advising us that Casey had gone into labor.

I went with him to Casey, but she told us we were devils. That all men were devils forever doing terrible things to women, and that we had better get out while we could, so we did. We ran for the safety of the study and threw down some brandy as fast as we could.

I was hurting though. I may not have been fully in love, deep or otherwise, but she was the woman of my dreams at that point, and both pride and my so-called non-existent heart were taking a beating.

I stayed with the MacCleans for another week and then returned to Faery, where I got word Gaiscioch had a human squirreled away with him at his private retreat. I shook it off. So be it. She had made her bed, so to speak.

* * *

Here was the kicker: Gais had taken her only to get at me. He had her at his retreat, oh yeah, and he used her in every conceivable manner. He tortured her mentally, physically, and in ways I could not bear to think about. _Because of me,_ he took this poor human beauty and ruined her for all time.

A month after Destinee had gone off with Gais, I returned from Faery to visit with Shawn MacClean. We went to the local tavern for a couple of pints. I love engaging in human pastimes, and this ritual men have of drowning their sorrows together at a tavern is most satisfying. At any rate, Gais chose that moment to complete his _coup de gras_. He dumped (and there is no other word for it) my little Destinee into the tavern. He dragged her through the tavern door, shouting at her that she was a worthless whore, and he threw her across the floor to lie naked, dirty, and totally out of her mind.

We Fae can cure almost all things, but we cannot cure, either in Fae or human, madness.

I was ahead of Shawn, covering her with my long coat, picking her up in my arms, and carrying her out of the tavern, where Shawn took her from me and put her ahead of him on his horse.

"Take her home, Shawn."

"Of course, my friend, we will see to her..."

I turned and saw Gaiscioch with a look on his face that made me lose all control. I was on him before he could shift away.

Rage filled me as I tore into him, beating him even though he attempted to ward off my blows. I am a royal, with powers untold, power and might never to be used in such a physical fashion against a lesser Fae. It is a sacred rule, one I broke that evening.

I screamed obscenities at him, and every time he tried to land a blow my way or block my onslaught, I pounded him. He fell, and I was on top of him, hammering and beating; I had called for my death sword, and it was in my leveled grip when suddenly my wrist was held fast.

I looked up to see my closest, dearest friend, Danté, Prince of Lugh, holding me with back with determination. He whispered, "You may not kill a fellow Fae, Bres..."

"Get off me!" I demanded.

"No, Bres... if you kill him, you will be forever banished... or worse. He is the queen's trusted friend."

"Do you know what he did?"

"Yes, I ran into Shawn on my way to visit with you at MacClean... I know."

"Aaibhe will not punish him for this."

"She is a just, good queen and will sanction him. We will see to it. He has interfered with a human life. He will be sanctioned before all the Council."

He pulled me off Gaiscioch, who was lying in a pool of his own blood. He was an immortal, and he would heal quickly. The death sword would have put an end to his miserable life, and knowing now what he would become, I often think of that day and wish I had incurred banishment rather than allow him to live.

* * *

Proof is a tenuous thing, and when I brought Gais up on charges before the Council, Danté stood at my side ready to support my accusations; however, the only thing he had witnessed was me beating the hell out of Gaiscioch.

The devil covered himself well. I proclaimed, "He threw her naked in the tavern."

He answered, "She tore off her clothes just outside the tavern and threw herself down in the mud, hugging my ankles, begging me to keep her."

"You tortured her till she went mad!" I spat at him.

"She was insane... I didn't know it till it was too late," Gais responded.

He had an answer for everything I threw at him, and he was the queen's trusted friend. They decided to believe I had been mistaken—that I had seen things through my clouded dislike of him, my jealousy that the human had gone with him instead of me. It was humiliating and defeating.

The queen came to me and said what I needed was a mission, and one in which only I could help her as her worthy prince. I knew she was trying to bolster my spirits. I knew she wanted to get me away from Gais because she saw the 'intent to kill' in my eyes.

Ete tells me that was a defining moment for me and that writing it all down will be important, and Ete is wise beyond her years.

All these things went into making me the Fae prince I am now, she says, and so I am putting pen to paper so to speak because I did learn a great deal from that experience.

Destinee remained with the MacCleans. She was a broken woman... off in a world of her own... and the name she called in her sleep was his, Gaiscioch, for she had been a woman in love... _with him_.

I visited with her often, sat with her, and now and then she would be lucid and laugh before vanishing once more into her 'other world', but each time before her thoughts wandered and took her to safety, she told me of Gais's false promises and then of his endless abuse. I have often thought I should lie in wait for him and return the favor...

And then the queen came for me at MacClean and said we had a mission. A creature, a vampire-like creature, Lamia DuLaine, was about to ruin the life of a member of the queen's favorite Druid family. Queen Aaibhe said the time had come to act, and yet, how could we prevent the inevitable if we adhered to the rules of non-interference?

My queen said we would find a way to help without breaking the rules.

Yeah, right—and at this point I think it time to hand over the pen, because this is where Legend truly begins...

~ One ~

IN THE SPRING in the year of 1814 was when DuLaine first saw him. It was as though she felt the humanity in herself all at once, all over again.

However, in reality more than a thousand years had passed, and the humanity in Lamia DuLaine had been extinguished long ago.

She watched him. He was tall, and his black waves of hair framed a chiseled, roguishly handsome face. His deep blue eyes twinkled as he conversed and laughed with his companions, unaware of her stare.

She watched and chided herself. He was a man, only a man. However, there was something magnetic in his appearance. There was something glowing in his aura. There was something that made her feel—and she never felt anything for anyone, other than Shamon.

She sensed greatness in this man and more... something she could not name. She felt suddenly alive. She could feel electricity vibrate off his body and fluctuate in a rhythm that penetrated to a place her soul had once occupied.

She couldn't look away from him.

She felt a fire heat her forehead, burn her cheeks from deep within her body.

In that short space of time, she knew she had to have him. She had to walk beside him, lust with him, and make him her own!

It had been a glance, just a glance, but it would change her life forever!

That was how it all began to crumble. That was when it all went wrong for _h_ _er._

Until then, she had reigned supreme. No one had ever touched her essence in such a manner. No one alive, no one human, knew the full secrets of her powers. Until then, until the spring of 1814, she had been mistress of her world.

Until then, no one had defied her will. Because of him her life, her needs, her force would change. Because _of them_ , Legend began...

* * *

The queen and Breslyn hovered in another dimension to observe the creature DuLaine and plan their strategy. At this point, the queen advised Breslyn, his mission was to observe and report—nothing more.

His silver eyes glittered with irritation and uncertainty. "Observation isn't going to be enough. At what point do we do something to avert disaster? For that is where the situation is headed."

"You are too impatient, my prince," said his queen softly.

Her behavior and explanations thus far were things he found frustrating. What he needed was action and possibly a good fight to dispel his mood.

The queen of the Fae was amazingly beautiful—so much so that few humans could look directly at her. She had a grace of form and movement. Her light blonde hair fell in silky waves to her waist. Her eyes of many colors were full with the wisdom of her age, her experience, and her rare intelligence. She rarely took any deep interest in humans, for their lives were too short to concern her; however, these particular humans were different.

Maxine Reigate and Julian Talbot mattered to her for deep-seated reasons. She had carried her secret for centuries, and suddenly things were beginning to unravel indelicately. The matter had to be handled, and she trusted Prince Breslyn to aid her in this.

"Breslyn... you must watch both the Reigate child and Julian for me. I have other proceedings to attend to in Council."

He looked down through the airwaves she had parted like a curtain and there saw Lord Talbot. He switched scenes and saw the woman he had come to think of as _the beast,_ Lamia DuLaine.

"We could arrange to have the DuLaine taken—that doesn't break the treaty exactly, now does it? I mean, she isn't really human anymore."

The queen bristled. "You know better. We may not play with Destiny. Anything we do must be the least invasive of all possibilities. You must try and explore other avenues. I trust in you to do this, Breslyn."

He bowed his head. "Perhaps my Queen could be a little more forthcoming with what the bloody hell she wants me to do then?"

She smiled indulgently. He was her favorite prince, her most loyal council member, and she allowed him much. "Indeed, my Prince. You may tweak matters... you may bend situations, but you may not cut the threads. Understood?"

He gave her a slight nod. It was going to be a nuisance. Such things always were. However, he knew the queen of his race had a compellingly personal stake in the outcome of this mission. Thus, he would unquestioningly do what she asked—well, perhaps not quite unquestioningly, for that was not his way, but in the end he would get the job done. He knew he should be remembering something, something about the Talbot fellow and the queen, but he couldn't quite grasp just what it was. At any rate, he knew that the Talbot Druids were favorites of the queen, and at the moment that was all he needed to know.

"And, my Prince, try and control that propensity you have for getting involved with humans. Use the Féth Fiada whenever you can. Remain invisible... there is no need for you to speak or interact with these people. The MacCleans are one thing because of your connection to Chartelle and her family... but please do not become embroiled with these particular humans—understood?"

He thought of Destinee... broken and living with his human family, the MacCleans, and for a moment thought to argue. Humans were fascinating, and he loved interacting with them. He sighed over this edict. It would be most difficult—for how was he to protect the queen's interests if he didn't become involved? However, the prince nodded dutifully—though what she didn't know, he thought, wouldn't hurt her.

~ Two ~

JULIAN TALBOT'S BLUE eyes glittered as he guided his horse down the long drive of Reigate towards the wide, square courtyard. His thoughts rushed at one another for first place, but they didn't stand a chance against the one overwhelming need to be with Maxine.

Brussels had been hell, and then he'd come home, only to find shortly afterwards that their victory at Waterloo had lost them so many... many of his dear friends among them.

Done, he told himself. The war was over, and business as well had been put into order. London was at his back, and Maxie's beautiful, waiting arms were ahead.

As he pulled his horse up, a neatly dressed stable boy hurried forward to take the reins. The youth grinned broadly, showing an expanse of unhealthy looking teeth. "Aye then, oi bid ye welcome, m'lord."

"Walk him a bit for me, lad, and have someone saddle up your mistress's steed. With any good luck we should be out here again shortly."

"If it's luck ye be wantin', well then oi be wishing it for ye, and that's the truth of it, m'lord."

Talbot's eyes twinkled as he flipped the urchin a coin. A moment later he was taking the stone steps two by two to Squire Reigate's ample front doors, where the Reigates' long-established and formidable butler met him. In fact, Talbot still held the knocker in his kid-gloved hand as the door started to open; he grinned appreciatively.

Kettles (the staid butler) held the door open wide and displayed an acceptable hint of a smile as he informed his lordship that the squire was not at home.

Julian Talbot dropped his hat, gloves, and heavily tiered riding coat into Kettle's waiting arms with a wink. "No? By Jove, fancy that! But then, it isn't the squire I am here to see."

Kettles rarely betrayed his emotions. He was extremely proud of his station in life and knew well the obligations of his position. However, he had watched his little mistress grow up, and he absolutely adored her. Thus, a smile in his faded eyes betrayed his pleasure. "Just so, m'lord. I will show you into the library, where Miss is busy about some work or—"

"Ah, but, Kettles..." declared his lordship, cutting him off, "I know the way." With that Julian strode forward confidently towards his goal. He was a happy man with his future all before him.

She sat sprawled on the floor, heedless of her fashionable yellow gown and looking much like a hoyden. She was attempting to concentrate on the novel she had picked to read. _Julian, Julian, Julian_ was all she could think. _Where are you, Julian? You are late. Are you safe? Oh, Julian love..._

Julian opened the library door quietly and watched her a moment. She was the most precious thing in his life. In a few quick, easy strides he had crossed the room's dark Oriental rug and came to stand before her.

Maxie was flat on her belly and at first saw his legs before following this path up further to his crotch. More often than not she had been wondering just what it was going to be like to get her fingers around what was hidden there.

She said his name as she jumped to her feet, and then she screeched with delight. Her silk skirts flounced in the air as he took her up and into his arms and laughingly declared, "And now my day is finally made! Have you a warm welcome kiss for me, Maxie-girl?"

Maxine Reigate was a petite young woman with black, gleaming ringlets and twinkling green eyes. She was considered to be a refreshing beauty amongst the haute ton of London. However, it had been more than her beauty that had won the experienced, nearly jaded heart of Julian, Lord of Talbot.

Without a word, he found that she did indeed have a most welcoming and enthusiastic kiss for him. He was hungry all at once. He couldn't stop himself as he had so many other times before, as decorum insisted. No, this time his tongue found its way all on its own and teased a response from her. He tasted her, letting her have a taste of him as he pressed her body closely up against himself. Damn, the wedding was too far off...

A moment later he was setting her on her feet and putting an arm between them. She pouted at him. "What, my lord, are you doing...?" She moved his hand away from her shoulder with a shrug and pressed up against him again.

"No... no... minx! This won't do."

"You started it..." she teased.

"Indeed... which gives me the right to put a stop to it as well!"

"Very well, so be it. Then instead, you may tell me just where you have been. I have been waiting hours and hours for you. I think myself very ill-used, my lord." Her green eyes flashed playfully.

"Ah, if I have kept my love waiting I must be no more than a lowly cad." He hung his head, but his eyes twinkled as he brought his glance to her reproving glare.

"Fie! Fie on you! You mock me, my buck, and I shall have none of it." She giggled and then said, "Why, why have I been waiting all day when your letter said you would be here by noon?"

"Business, pet. The estates were in need of updating with my man... it took longer than I expected." He glanced over at the _Quarterly Review_ and noted that it contained a scathing review of Lord Byron. His brow went up before he looked away and added, "There are things that need to be done and put in order if we are to take that extended honeymoon of ours." He pinched her chin. "In fact, after these last few days, you should dole out some pity on me, for I am being grossly taxed..."

She released a full-throttled giggle. "Oh, poor, dear love. Dull work, I know, and there are other more enjoyable things you could be doing..." She gave him a saucy look, and he pinched her cheek.

"Duty, beloved, and..." he whispered, his blue eyes were lit with dark sparks. He held her captive in his embrace, and his voice was husky with desire. "I must ensure the riches you are accustomed to enjoying."

She gave him a hearty slap to his upper arm. "Rapper! As though _I_ give a fig for such things!" She frowned then. "Duty, however, is quite another thing, isn't it? I mean, so many people depend on you to manage their land so they can make their living. All your farmers and—"

" _And kiss me again, minx_..." What the hell was he doing, he asked himself. He had to get control, and yet, here he was taking her into his arms to kiss her once more.

However, this second kiss eluded him as Maxine's mother entered the room noisily at that moment and fondly cleared her throat. "Engaged you two may be, but not, my dears, yet married."

His lordship laughed and took Maxie's arm before moving forward and bending over his future mother-in-law's hand. "Well met, ma'am, and may I say you are looking as lovely as ever."

"Scamp!" Mrs. Reigate smiled as she moved to the yellow winged ladies' chair and took her position. "Now, sit and tell us your news. I will ring for coffee."

"Dare I refuse, when I need to ask you a favor?" His lordship eyed her hopefully, and his charm filled the room.

"Ah." Mrs. Reigate silently thought his winning smile irresistible. "What then, my lord?"

"While we still have some day left, I thought I would steal your daughter for a short while so we might enjoy a little riding jaunt through the fields."

Mrs. Reigate knew her daughter had been itching to ride all day but had refrained from doing so while she waited for his lordship's arrival. She smiled to herself as she looked from one to the other. They were perfect for one another. She was also cognizant of the undeniable fact that when Lord Julian Talbot had asked for Maxine's hand in marriage a month ago, her daughter had not only made the match of the season, but of the decade! In any event, she was a doting and indulgent parent and didn't see the harm in his request.

She smiled ruefully as she said, "Very well—a quick jaunt... home before dark."

Maxine laughed and dropped a kiss on her mother's cheek. She was in high spirits and ran with childlike happiness for the door, blowing a kiss to Julian and exclaiming with glee, "I'll throw on my riding habit in less than ten minutes, see if I don't! Time me... I shall be true to my word."

His lordship laughed out loud. He had never known a woman who could change her clothes in ten minutes. He called after her, "The wonder of it is you are a speedy little monkey. Go on then, girl, for I do mean to time you."

Mrs. Reigate smiled and watch her daughter bounce off before she turned to ask his lordship, "What news have you of Wellington? Everyone is still crying over our terrible casualties at Waterloo. 'Tis heart-wrenching."

"Indeed, and in such a contrast to the wild frivolity that commanded Brussels only days before the battle." His lordship had spent two weeks in Brussels. He had only just become engaged to Maxine when the Home Office had entrusted him with a secret errand. That accomplished, he had returned to London only days before Wellington met Napoleon at Waterloo. Now, it was all so cuttingly fresh in his mind.

Mrs. Reigate reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I am sorry for your loss... I know that you and Colonel Reynolds were dear friends..."

"Thank you, yes..." It was all he could say. He and Tom had been at Eton and then at Cambridge together. Tom would have been his best man at his upcoming wedding.

It seemed only a moment or so had passed when Maxine entered the room with a gleeful, "Ta da! Less than ten minutes!"

Fiancé and mother looked at her and broke out laughing. She certainly had changed into a stunning royal blue velvet riding habit, but the matching top hat was on askew, and her jacket was not buttoned correctly. She stole his lordship's heart all over again. She was everything he had ever wanted.

Her mother went about the business of tidying her up before his lordship took her light kid-gloved fingers to his lips and whispered, "Are you mine? Are you really mine?"

She looked up at him provocatively and replied, "Not yet, my lord... not quite yet..."

"Why you naughty minx!" He chuckled and wanted to crush her in his arms but restrained himself, as he was fully aware that her mother's eyebrow was already up.

"Go on then... and remember I would like you back, my darlings, before dark... I don't know what it is, but... something has had me on edge. I suppose it is just that I would like you home when the squire returns."

* * *

She went to the large panoramic window they had installed just the year before and watched them mount their horses. She was being foolish, of course, but she couldn't shake the notion that something felt off. It was as though something watched them from afar; the atmosphere around her daughter didn't feel right. She felt a threat in the air, and although she swept it away, telling herself she was foolish, her better sense knew better. She had reason to trust her instincts...

However, she had nothing concrete to go on. She shook her head; she was just being fanciful. Maxie was with his lordship. A voice in her head, however, whispered that, even so, Maxie was in danger. A dark cloud hovered over her lovely child, and it was sparked by venom. Such a thought shocked her, and she hastily brushed it aside. It was all nonsense. Her mind was just playing tricks on her heart. That was all.

What else could it possibly be? Something cackled in her brain, and that awful whisper lingered in the air, telling her to take her Maxie and run...

### A half-human, half-Fae seer wants to ignore her Fae powers,  
but she must instead embrace them in

Shee Willow—Legend

~ Prelude ~

THE WAR WITH the dark Unseelie Fae has already begun. Humans need to know how to protect themselves.

Although we (the Seelie Fae) have stood between humans and the dark Fae, they are escaping in numbers too great to contain, and they are coming for you!

The Prison Wall that kept the Dark Fae in their Dark Realm has been breached. We used a great deal of our skills—and magic—to keep that wall intact, but it has been dangerously thinning. They escaped in small numbers, but there is another threat—their new and sinister leader whom you may already have met.

His name is Gaiscioch.

The Unseelie creatures (one shrinks to call them Fae, for in most respects they are very different) have been, from the moment they were created, a venomous, bitter, and malevolent race of ill-formed life. They have always wanted human contact. _They want it still, and that is not good._

Gaiscioch was one of our own. He turned his back on his own kind. We dubbed him a renegade Seelie. He took refuge in the Dark Realm, and in return for their allegiance, he promised the monsters freedom. He promised them our Fae and human worlds.

Gais freed some of the lower castes through various portals he was able to create before our great Seelie Queen Aaibhe managed to shut them down.

Although Gaiscioch was trapped in the Dark Realm of the Unseelie, he has been hard at work. He found ways to open the gap in the wall, and he will try to make those slits wider. He will need large enough portals for his Unseelie army, and his goal is to bring that army through to your human world— _soon._

Gais has no love for the Unseelie, but he has an agenda all his own, and he needs the miserable, heinous things for his war.

The Unseelie monsters have never been free to walk your Earth in such numbers.

Until now...

* * *

We Seelie Fae have always been fond of our Druids.

Some humans thought they might be Fae descendents; perhaps in a way they are.

Humans speak of them as a mysterious group and have written a great deal about the Druid community. They have always been, as they should be, a secretive and select entity, and there is nothing like the skills and abilities of a Druid high priest/priestess.

A Druid priest was sorcerer, oracle, sage, and tribe leader in the tight-knit Druid communities. He was the mediator between the physical world and the spirit realm. The Druid priests or priestesses controlled the knowledge and the secrets of their small tribes. They did and do...

Druid priests still have the power to cause storms, and they have many gifts and abilities, given to them by us—the Seelie Fae.

In return for their special gifts, they have for over a thousand years enacted the four rituals that help maintain the Prison Wall. Druid women, as well as female Fae, have always been regarded as equals to males and had the power to conduct these rituals as well.

And now more than ever, the world—each of our worlds—needs our Druids.

My Fae queen has recruited her loyal Druid high priests. She said they are the answer to this quickly overwhelming problem. She put her Trackers out searching for a way to capture Gaiscioch. She managed and placed her Fae warriors in strategic positions.

Even so, the escaped Unseelie are unthinking creatures of horror and are already feeding indiscriminately in the human world. They are even allowing themselves to be seen before they kill, just for the sheer pleasure of witnessing the terror in their victims' faces. And their numbers—their numbers are becoming almost too great to contain.

And so, Gaiscioch has set his stage, and the greatest battle the human world has ever seen has already started.

Who am I?

Princess Ete, royal cousin to the Seelie Fae queen.

~ Prologue ~

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,

And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

I HAVE ALREADY introduced myself. I am Ete, Royal Fae princess and cousin to the Seelie queen, Aaibhe, and I should tell you at the outset, I have been suffering unrequited love for a Fae prince (whom some of you may already know).

His name is Breslyn, Prince of the Royal House of Dagda of the Tuatha Dé Danaan.

This is not an infatuation. No simple ' _taken'_ here. _Love_ is what it is, and who wouldn't be in love with him? He is, even amongst the best of the Fae, a hunky, beautiful, honorable prince. However, he tells me that I am too young for him, and he has always thought he cannot commit to forever because we are an immortal race— _forever_ , for us, is the real deal.

If that wasn't enough of a hurdle to get over, I also have had to compete with human women. He has always adored humans—especially human women. Although I haven't wanted to, I must admit that for the most part humans are quite an endearing lot.

I know that he prefers giving his affection to human women because _that_ 'forever' is less than a century. I have heard him say to his friends that he can only deal with a hundred years or so with a woman constantly by his side.

He has just come away from his last adventure with humans. He lost his 'Lia' to a Druid priest. He was best man at their wedding. However, he still cannot believe that a mere mortal bested him. It made me giggle—it still does.

It was hard to believe, however, for he is a stunning Royal Fae for a Druid priest to compete against. His height—well over six foot. Dark blond, slicked-back hair frames his oh-so-handsome face. Warrior built, and I do so wish he would see me as more than a child. I am his younger sister's best friend, and that seems to disturb him as well.

At any rate, the queen gave us a new mission. She said that we have to find a way to capture the traitor Gaiscioch and strengthen the thinning walls between the worlds of Fae and Man. Easier said than done, but it threw us together— _just what I wanted._

I know that he felt something for me when he saved me from Gais just a few months ago. I saw want in his eyes when he looked at me then...

However, there is a new human woman in the mix—part of our mission. I am most distressed. Once more he will work closely with yet another beautiful woman, and this one... _this Willow Lang is not what she seems..._

~ One ~

MY NAME—WILLOW Lang. So much has happened that you need to know, so I will start at the beginning—but first, I'll give you some stats.

How I got to the ripe old age of twenty-three and still remained sane is beyond me. Maybe I'm not sane. I have been told that my pale blonde, very thick, very long hair catches the eye. Eyes? Mine are violet. Come on, you say, but yes, they are violet, like the flower. That is an accident of birth—I take no credit for it.

I stand about five foot three in my stocking feet, and I have a really good figure. Now, please don't think I am being immodest. I am not, because in spite of all that, _I know, have always known, I am a_ _freak!_

Let me explain.

I should first give you a little history of the Tuatha Dé (the Fae). They came to Ireland before the beginning of history. They are immortal, which means they don't get sick, they don't age past their maturity (which generally _looks_ about twenty-eight to thirty years old), and more often than not, they get sadly, dangerously bored. When they get so bored that they are ready to off themselves, they look for really good entertainment.

Apparently to many of the Fae, humans provide that entertainment for them.

So you should know right up front, _I am not quite human_. My father is Tuatha Dé.

Yep—an alien, ancient race from the world Danu. _No Tinker Bells,_ no flitting about, tiny, winged things. The Seelie Fae are tall and bold, and many of them (male and female alike) have been warriors and are built along those lines. All of them are almost too beautiful to look at (especially the members of the Seelie four Royal Houses). Their eyes are iridescent (unless they have taken human Glamour).

Glamour is something they use to disguise the alien in themselves, which can be seen in the iridescence of their eyes.

My mom was human, but a very unusual kind.

I guess my eyes are such a unique shade of violet because of the combination of my dad's many-colored thing going on in his Fae eyes and the deep blue of my mom's. At any rate, my dad enjoyed describing how totally, completely, and madly in love with my mom he was. I always knew my mom was even more totally and madly in love with him. They both doted on me.

My mom died when I was ten years old.

Okay, what does all that really mean, you ask? It meant that from the start I never belonged in either world— _freak._

I didn't belong in Tir (the world of the Fae), and although here in Wilmington, North Carolina, was where I lived, where I grew up, I didn't completely fit in with my peers here either.

In spite of that, we were really a very happy family. It felt like we were always laughing. My dad spent a great deal of his time here with us, and although sometimes he would have to go to Tir on Fae matters, he was content living with us in Wilmington. I was content hiding my Faeness and pretending to be all human.

My dad was what anyone would call a serious hunk. His hair, blond, like mine. His height just over six-foot (like most Fae), and his build athletic. He was a musician on the Isles of Tir and even dabbled a bit down here until he got too much notoriety. (Fae need anonymity amongst humans.)

My mom met him when she was eighteen. Dad doesn't age, but when a Fae reaches maturity, he usually takes the Glamour of the form closest to what he looks like. He was about ten thousand years old, but he looked about twenty-eight to thirty when they met in Wilmington at a rock concert, fell in love, and were married shortly thereafter. My grandma didn't like him, by the way—she still doesn't _._

Ten years later, he looked the same, and my mom although still young and beautiful was twenty-eight. He didn't want her to age. He didn't want her to grow old without him. He didn't want to go on living his immortal life without her. Simply put, Dad didn't want Mom to die a human death.

He had a solution. He petitioned the queen of Fae, Aaibhe, for a very special elixir. She granted him his wish. Dad was ecstatic. He began insisting Mom take the elixir of immortality to stop her aging. After months of his insistence, Mom finally agreed, but before she had a chance to do so, she was jogging on her way home to us after her morning run in the park, was hit by a drunk driver— _a drunk driver in the morning_ —and killed!

For weeks and weeks I felt alone. I had lost my mom whom I adored, and my father was so struck with grief that he was a basket case.

Summer vacation was approaching when Dad suddenly took me by the hand and said we were going to Tir. It wasn't the first time we had been there together. He had taken my mom and me there for a day or two at a time over the years. The problem with that was their time doesn't work like ours. A day or two in the world of Fae could be almost two to three weeks on Earth. And there is no figuring it out. It is not an absolute. The time difference varies. Very inconvenient.

Thus, Dad told Grandma we would be back soon. She gave him an unending argument, but off we went. He touched my shoulder, we shifted through space, and there we were on Tir. (Shifting is the Fae's mode of locomotion. Think of it as parting the airwaves and then stepping through the tunnel it creates.)

The Isles of Tir are multi-faceted. They have mountain ranges. They have beaches to rival the Caribbean, they have gardens, and they have fields, piney forests, and lakes of all sizes. Tir is... absolutely breathtakingly, beautiful. Color rivals the rich hues of a Disney cartoon. Everything in Tir is wildly vibrant. Flowers, waterfalls, trees of every imagination, and birds of all kinds sing, spread their beautiful wings, and everywhere you look... you find beauty.

My father is Fae, but he is not royalty. Even so, his wonderful estate was on the edge of a river, and there were animals of every kind roaming around. As a child, I was at first quite content.

I was also getting quite an education. There are many things Fae are taught as they attain their maturity. My father tended to that from the moment I started to walk, but on Tir that summer he put me in a class with other Fae young just about my age.

There are not many Fae young—their ability to reproduce has diminished over time.

Right, so there I was with other Fae young, some older, some younger than I was.

_Disaster!_ I felt like it was the end of my world. They looked at me like I was some kind of freak, and I was dubbed the _'_ Faeling _'_.

You know the story of 'Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer'. None of the other reindeer would play with Rudolph, and none of the other Fae would play with me. Their words, their actions, and their obvious hatred of what I was made me cry nearly every single day of the first week that I was there.

By the end of the month, my dad noticed that something was really wrong and discovered what was happening to me. He stormed around. He let loose on our teacher (who felt much as the children did about me), and then he took my hand and shifted us home to Wilmington.

Our month on the Isle of Tir had cost me _a year_ in the human world.

I didn't age in that year, but life had just gone on without me on Earth. And Grandma was fit to be tied. My grandmother was absolutely beside herself with relief to have me back. She knew my secret, and she and I shared another secret as well.

I don't know if you have ever heard of a Shee Fios/Shee Seer? It is a human (usually a woman) who can see past the Glamour a Fae uses as a disguise, and a Seer can see past the cloak of invisibility called the Féth Fiada. In addition to that ability, many Seers have the gift of precognition or what some call _inspired sight._

Okay, this is a lot to throw at you all at once, but you'll settle in and get the hang of it as we go along.

Grandma was determined to keep me out of Tir forever. _Good_ **—** so was I.

Dad asked Grandma to move in with us and be there for me, as he wanted to be able to spend some time in Tir. Without Mom, our world did not hold the lure it once held for him. Now, don't be thinking he neglected me. He didn't.

However, a little depression had taken hold of me for a time. My mom was gone. My dad was on Tir, and my dad was Tuatha Dé, a member of another race. I didn't fit in Tir—where they thought of me as a _faeling_ —and if I wanted to fit in the human world I would always have to hide what I was.

Couldn't and didn't confide in my closest friend. She would have thought I was nuts, and Fae don't want their presence known amongst humans. That was built into me.

At least I could pretend to be a one-hundred-percent-human child and survive, and like most, I survived my childhood.

Dad was always around. He would pop in frequently, spend some time with me, and pop out. Grandma never liked him, and never will, but I adore my dad.

When I was sixteen, Dad wanted me to go back to the Isle of Tir with him, just for my summer vacation. He said he would have me back in time for my senior year of high school. He wanted it so badly that I finally gave in and said okay. _I dreaded it_.

When we first arrived at our home on Tir, I stuck close to the grounds. On my second day, Dad insisted I accompany him to the palace to listen to him jam with some other musical Fae.

It was there, at the palace, on my second day in Tir, that I saw _Valtye._ I felt... _slammed!_

My mind said, _Holy shit!_ I looked at him and felt my world rock. Fireworks went off in my mind. I felt the earth tremble beneath my sandals, and I heard a bell toll. It said very clearly that I was meant for him. I was sixteen, after all.

If he were human he would have been about twenty years old. In Fae years he was about one thousand years old. He was tall and completely tantalizingly well built, and his hair was a copper-tinged gold. _I had my first teen crush._

I couldn't believe it, but he noticed me at once and came right over to take my hand and put it to his sensuous lips as he introduced himself. When he said his name, it felt like the blood in my veins sizzled. My heart pounded out his name— _Valtye._ Oh, I fell fast...

The next few days found us dancing together at a concert at the open-air music grounds near the palace, and then we went on a picnic.

I had my first kiss during that picnic. _Not my first Fae kiss_ , but my first kiss ever! It was wonderful. It was all any sixteen-year-old could hope her first kiss would be and of course ruined me for any other kisses thereafter.

You know since then I have had other kisses—not an extraordinary number, but my fair share, and unfortunately not a one compared to that first kiss.

Then, one afternoon I was supposed to meet Valtye in the park.

Fae have many abilities. As I mentioned earlier, shifting is how Fae get to place to place quickly. It allows them to instantly travel wherever they wish. Just a bit more advanced than a _Beam me up, Scotty._ It is mostly science with a touch of magic for concealment.

Because of my Faeness, I can shift, but I have always liked to walk. I don't shift unless I have to—I always enjoyed exercise, and I have grown accustomed to behaving as human as possible. Fitting in has always been a paramount goal. However, I can do nearly all things Fae. The largest difference between a 'faeling' and a Fae is the fact that _I am_ _not immortal_.

This one afternoon, I had been with my dad all day and was running late. So I decided to shift to the park. I arrived and thought Valtye wasn't there yet, so I took a little walk and stopped when I heard his voice on the other side the of shrubbery as he conversed with his friend.

"What, Aonghas—don't be daft! You can't think _I_ really care for her? She is a _faeling_. I am merely amusing myself for a time."

"It looked like more than that, Valtye. I think you really like the half-breed."

"Well, I don't. I don't give a rat's ass for her," Valtye said with so much disgust that I felt my heart actually physically contract. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I made myself listen. I wanted to remember this. I wanted to keep myself from ever being hurt again.

"What then is it?" said Aonghas.

"Well, have you looked at her? She is an exceptional beauty, but it is more than that. She has the passion of a human. That is what I am after. When I am done... then you can try her on for size."

That was all I needed to hear. I would remember it always, and every single time I do remember it, I cringe.

I shifted to my dad's house, left a note for my father, and shifted back to Wilmington. I have never been back to Tir since.

~ Two ~

THAT WAS THEN, but it helped form who I am. I keep myself really well insulated.

I know what you are saying. I should have the smarts to know that was just one Fae and not all Fae are like that. I get it. But, you see... I don't fit in with the Fae—they think I am not really one of them.

Humans don't know what I am, but as I have said, I don't fit in with them either, but at least that is just in _my_ head.

You are saying, "Nonsense. Put it behind you. Time to grab a guy and fall in love. Make it a human male..."

However, I have thought it all out. The problem is multi-sided. _I am not entirely_ _human_. So what do I do? Match up with some trusting guy, and then he finds out I am part alien race? If I hid it from him and then we had a child... my child would have Fae in her—so what then?

It is a problem that has haunted me for years. I kept my shield in place. I kept my blinders on. I can't have a relationship with a man. My secret has kept me pinned to a world of isolation. There are no eligible men for me, and it has been a great and sad inconvenience.

In other words, it sucks! There have been times when I really wanted to hook up with someone I met, and then bam I got hit with all the warnings in my head.

Sex, you say? What about some hot sex at least? Right, I quite agree. My problem has been the fact that I can't seem to separate sex and love (or the fantasy). I have tried, but as soon as I thought about that kind of intimacy, I found myself mooning about ever-lasting 'foreverness' and how perfect it would be if I could meet someone I could share all my secrets with. _My secrets are extraordinary..._

So instead, I poured myself into getting an education. I majored in art and got my degree at UNC at Wilmington. (My grandma wasn't ready to let me go too far, so I stayed close to home for her.)

My Fae smarts have always helped me ace everything without really trying. Before I knew it, I was accepted to the New York Academy of Art. That was as close to heaven as I was ever going to get.

This time Grandma insisted I go, so I did, but I was forever shifting home to visit her. Some Fae abilities have their merits!

I love restoring ancient pieces of art. Canvas paintings are my specialty, although I have on two occasions worked on wall murals. Art restoration is my calling. I love the history behind each piece and the satisfaction I feel when my work is completed and a masterpiece looks thanks back at me.

I was lucky enough last year to get a position at the New York City Museum of Fine Arts (I've always suspected my dad of having a magic hand in that). At any rate, I got the job and have been working for them almost at times around the clock. Perhaps Dad flicked a finger and got me the job, but it has been my long hours and my skill as an artist that won me a promotion and a permanent position.

Yesterday the superintendent, John Mallory, stopped by my workroom with a visitor. When he called my name, I turned and stepped aside from the aged Flemish painting that had been one of Peter Paul Rubens' very finest pieces. I had been working on it for at least a week. I smiled a welcome at John, and then I was stopped dead in my tracks! Beside John was an eye-popping hunk of man. He radiated smoking-hot sex. He throbbed with an aura that was filled with vibrating electricity. I felt the room sizzle with his essence. Oh yeah, he had my attention.

He was well over six feet and built athletically. His hair was a well-ordered mass of shiny black, layered silk. His face? Ooh my—his face was chiseled in ruggedly handsome lines. His lips were full with the promise of something I didn't want to think about. He looked to be about thirty. What was he wearing, you ask?

He was dressed in what I was sure was Armani. A navy sports jacket, a denim shirt, and oh-so-tight-fitting jeans. He wore navy leather boots with just a touch of silver ornamentation at the toe and heels.

To say that his eyes were green would be an understatement. They were brilliant genuine emeralds with sparks of gold, and at the moment they were taking me in from head to toe. His eyes lingered at my breasts, and I felt myself go hot all over. Then he met my gaze, and I could see that the violet color of my eyes intrigued him for a quick moment. I was used to people doing a double take on my eyes. And then, he was all business all at once.

As soon as I finished my visual evaluation of him I had the feeling that I should run away and not look back. I brushed the feeling aside and told myself I was an idiot.

John Mallory must be about fifty, and he works at the museum for the love of it. He is 'Old World money' and doesn't need to work at all. He was smiling broadly as he introduced me and seemed pleased as punch. "Willow... this is Squire Shayne Bantry..." He turned to the squire. "I have the pleasure of introducing you to our little treasure, Miss Willow Lang."

_A squire no less_? I was impressed.

His black lashes swept his cheeks as he inclined his head. He took my offered hand and didn't shake it, but put it to his lips _Old Wonderful World_ style.

He spoke, which was a good thing because I was nearly sure that if I did I would gush. "I am honored to meet you, Miss Lang. You come highly recommended."

His Irish brogue went straight to my heart. God help me—I love anything, everything Irish. My mom was Irish. His accent made me want to capture him, make him sit and talk, just keep talking. However, his words were short and sweet and threw me off balance.

"Recommended? Recommended for what?" I managed to find my voice. "I don't understand, Squire."

His black eyebrow went up, and he was clearly not pleased. "Please forgive me. I thought that Mr. Mallory had already presented my proposition to you."

We both turned and looked at John.

John blustered, and his hands moved wildly. "I was away for a few days on business. I only got back last night, and there was your letter..." He was looking at the squire and then turned to look at me. "... and now here _he is_." He looked back at the squire. "Haven't had the chance to approach Miss Lang, but no harm. Why don't we go to my office and discuss everything."

The squire's face was stern. "I am sure you are a busy man, Mr. Mallory. If you don't mind, I would like to take Miss Lang for a cup of coffee and discuss my plan with her."

"Absolutely." John waved us off. "Of course..." He turned to me and said amicably, "Willow, we are cooperating fully with the squire, so the Museum has no objection."

My mind bounced around. _What? Who? Where?_ I didn't have a clue.

Green eyes scanned my face as he took up my arm to lead me away. I stopped him and said, "Please... what is this all about?"

Shayne Bantry smiled softly at me. "I have a place near Lake Killarney in Ireland. It has been in my family for centuries. Some of the paintings date back to the Middle Ages and are in need of restoration. I was told that you are the one for the job. You have an outstanding reputation as a talented restorer. I also understand that you have a great love for what you do. I know the importance of loving one's work... it makes the difference between mediocre and greatness. Therefore, I came here expressly to judge for myself. One glance at your work tells me that you are the one for the job." He didn't wait for me to reply but moved forward and stood in front of the painting I had been working on. "Ah... Rubens," he said. He didn't ask, he knew, and that impressed me. I watched as he peered closer still and said softly, "Miss Lang... there is no doubt you are a master at your craft."

I was scarcely listening. What stuck with me was what I blurted out. "You want me to go to Ireland?" I was astonished and, let me admit, more than a little bit excited. The only time I had been to Ireland was when I was a child. My memories were vague, but the pull Ireland has always had on me was strong. I wondered why I had never returned there. I know Dad shifted to Ireland all the time. Ireland for most Fae was their favorite place on Earth.

"I do," he said succinctly.

"To work restoring classical paintings in your home?"

"Quite a few classical paintings."

"At your place...?"

"Indeed, at Bantry Manor." He seemed slightly amused by my reaction.

"Bantry Manor—in Ireland... me...? Like... an old manor... with history?"

He smiled with genuine feeling for the first time. "Like with history to the 1400s, although it has been restored and modernized several times over the last century."

"And you couldn't find anyone in your own country to restore your classical paintings?"

"I am very particular. A perfectionist when it comes to art, and now that I have seen your work, Miss Lang, I must tell you that you are the only one I want for the job."

"But... my job here...?"

"I have been assured that it will be here waiting for you when you are done at Bantry, but I fear you will not be done for—many... many months." He looked about himself. "Shall we go for coffee now, Miss Lang?"

Oh no. Sitting down to coffee with this mysterious man was not what I wanted to do just then. I couldn't stop the next question. "Bantry Manor, you say... and I will be working there... alone... with you?"

His smile grew, and he inclined his head. "Not quite alone. There are servants and... visitors. I, in fact, won't be there all the time as I have a business that takes my time and attention on a regular basis."

I extended my hand. I wanted him to go. I needed down time to myself. I had to think. It is what, in fact, I told him.

Again, he didn't shake my hand. He put it to his lips and murmured in that Irish brogue that sent shivers up my spine, "I look forward to hearing from you soon, Miss Lang."

I left the museum early and decided to walk home. I noted absently that I hadn't seen very many Fae lately. In New York City, that was an oddity.

The Fae love the hustle and bustle of city life. They put on their human Glamour and shop and club and frequent our most expensive and popular establishments. Being Fae, I can see through their human Glamour. However, I know how to hide my Faeness from them. I am human and purposely emote human whenever I see a Fae within my circle.

I arrived at my apartment, put a 'Lean Cuisine' in the micro, and tossed a salad for dinner. All the while I was thinking about this new development in my life. I had mixed feelings. I was safe in my job, in my present life. Not having an awesome time of it, but safe and happy enough.

This mysterious squire offered me something I felt in my gut was dangerous. Dangerous—why? I was being an idiot. I wondered idly how much of a donation the handsome Squire Bantry had made to the museum to get them to agree to such a deal.

You have to understand that boys with green (as a rule) do not impress me. What I wanted was a knight in shining armor, which meant he had to be big and strong, but also he had to have character, he had to be tolerant, he had to love puppies, and he couldn't care that I wasn't all human. Not a big chance of that; however, money wasn't on that list.

Of course knights like that just don't come along. Do they? That voice in my heart sang, _Yes, they do_ , and that bitch in my brain wagged an ugly, bony finger and said, _You know better!_

You know of course that by the time I went to bed I had made up my mind; knights might not exist, but this opportunity was real, and was I going to pass it up? Oh no.

My heart warned me off—it remembered how it had fluttered when Shayne Bantry had kissed my hand—but my head said this would be the experience of a lifetime. And besides, he had said he wouldn't even be around much. It was all perfectly safe and respectable. Wasn't it?

The next morning, I did it; I called him at the Plaza, and he received my acceptance as though he had never expected any other response. He told me he would be returning to Ireland immediately but that he would have his jet return for me in three days.

His jet? Shit! _Three days?_ As in private jet?

This was not good. I would be ruined for the modest life I was presently content to live. _Three days_? "Three days?" I had to stop myself from screaming.

"Will ye not be able to do that, Miss Lang?" he asked, and his Irish accent, which had suddenly dipped into what sounded like another century, spun right through me. I pictured his black eyebrows drawing together in a frown over those dark-lashed green eyes.

_Stop it, Willow Lang!_ I started chiding myself. I was _not_ , absolutely not going to think about this man.

"Well, I have to make arrangements for my apartment..." I tried logic.

"I will take care of that. Just leave it to me." He was all modern high-finance man once more. Still Irish brogue, but that Old World quality I had heard so briefly a moment ago was very nearly gone—not quite, but nearly.

"You—how will you...?"

"Please believe me, Miss Lang. I am a businessman—I have attorneys. It will all be handled. All you have to do is cover your furniture with sheets, pack your bags, go to Kennedy, and meet the plane I shall have waiting for you there."

July was heading out, and August was coming in. I asked about the weather in Ireland.

He answered in a slightly bored tone, "Pack everything you want. Pack anything you want. If you find that there is something that you have forgotten, or wish to have, it will be procured for you."

I was flabbergasted. I mean, really! I was good at my work—I had heard some remark that I was even considered great at my work. After all, I was a Fae. Art was a part of who I really am. Even so, just what sort of fine, classical paintings did he have that needed me so badly that he was willing to go to so much trouble? I started imagining the paintings I was about to see, and a thrill shot through me.

"Fine," I said. "Just tell me, where I should go to catch this private jet of yours?"

"All you need do is sit back and allow the car I will send for you to take you to where you need to go." And then he was gone. I was still holding the phone like an idiot, wondering if I had made the right decision, long after he hung up.

### Like sexy vampires?

### Meet Damon from

ShadowHeart—Slayer

~ Prologue ~

DAMON DRUMMOND STOOD on a rooftop—arms at his side, legs spread in a wide stance—and stared at the scene that had just begun to unfold five stories below in an alleyway only dimly lit by the lights from the various apartments above it.

At both ends of the alley, New York City was ablaze with activity and bright with its city lights. Even at one in the morning the streets were still filled with a flow of people out on the town.

Damon made quite a picture. His black, thick hair fell in layered waves and framed his handsome face. The wind at the top of the building whipped at his shiny locks and at his tall, rugged body, but he didn't bother to zip his black leather jacket closed. He rubbed his cold hands against his jeans as he watched the red-haired beauty below lure her prey deeper into the deserted alley.

Damon's eyes, brightly alert with interest, were lit in their recesses with gold at a striking variance with their dark depths. He was keenly intrigued as he studied her style and took her measure, filing away his observations as though he were a research scientist observing an exotic new species. He watched her move and sway and entice her prey deeper into her web, and he waited for the inevitable. This was not the first time he had followed her into the night.

He saw the newbie slink in after her as the beauty pretended she didn't know he was coming up behind her. She put on a grand show. Damon saw that her hand was already inside her unbuttoned denim jacket, and he knew her fingers were wrapped around her deadly weapon.

She stopped, turned, and pushed a long strand of her fire-lit hair away from her provocative features. She smiled bewitchingly at the young man now tripping with anxious need and awful, raging blood-lust towards her.

Her voice was disdainful when she spoke. " _Oh_ —hi there... Are you following _me_?"

An animal grunt came out of the newbie's mouth as his lips drew back, and he bared his fangs. What happened next went down so swiftly that a lesser person watching would not have realized the skill and strength it had taken. It looked so easy... she made it look so easy, but Damon knew otherwise. A newbie's brutal strength was derived from the bloodlust, and no human could withstand its onslaught.

The newbie charged, but she went into a spin and was lightly, easily, and gymnastically out of his way and at his back. Before the newly made vamp understood enough to recover, she had her sharply pointed stake plunged into the nape of his neck and just as quickly had it withdrawn.

He turned to stare, stunned but not down. He made an agonized sound and reached back for his neck. His hand filled with blood, and he stared at his hand as his body filled with the poison that wood inflicts on a vampire.

She took his moment of confusion and used it to ram the wooden stake into his undead heart, and he collapsed in a heap. He stared at her before he whispered, "Your time... will come..."

She stood back from him for a moment as though saying a prayer. Then she withdrew the stake, wrapped it in some kind of cloth, and slipped it into its Kevlar sheath, which was strapped around her shoulder under her jacket.

Damon's dark, well-shaped eyebrow arched with interest as she turned and slowly walked away, leaving the body in the alleyway. A newbie vampire would not disintegrate. She didn't seem to care.

He supposed, as she did, that the police would list it as they did so many others as an unsolved case, and it would be filed with the cold cases as time went by.

The beauty picked up her pace, and Damon noted the style of her walk was controlled; she was careful not to use her slayer ability at super-speed.

He couldn't stop himself from noting that her butt was perfectly shaped and tantalizing, and he could see she didn't give a damn about her looks. She had only one goal, and that goal was totally at odds with his.

She was confident—probably overconfident, and that wasn't good. She was killing at least two vampires nearly every other night, and one of these nights she would come across a vampire who knew just how to handle and overcome her...

However, she was smart, and she had been piecing the puzzle together. She had discovered bits and crumbs, and she'd tracked the clues relentlessly. It had Damon deeply concerned, because she was looking for one vampire in particular.

The beauty's name was Nikki Walker. She was a vampire slayer, and Damon Drummond—well _,_ _he was a vampire_...

~ One ~

NIKKI STARED UP at the small inn not too far from Harcourt Street in Dublin. It was a perfect location. Quiet, and it seemed to cater to older couples and a few business sorts. It wasn't too far from the Temple Bar area, where she would do her vampire scouting, and so it was perfect for a home base.

She picked up her two bags and climbed the high steps that took her inside, where a small but brightly lit lobby greeted her. A man behind a mahogany counter, with an office of sorts at his back, caught her attention with his deep, Irish brogue, and she had to concentrate in order to understand what he was saying.

He laughed and clipped whatever he had said into a simple, "Good morn' to ye, miss."

"Oh hi..." Nikki smiled as she put down her suitcases and moved towards him. "I have reservations... Nikki Walker."

"Ah, yes... ye requested the top floor... a suite." He looked to be in his early twenties, and she couldn't help but notice that he gave her an interested once over as inconspicuously as he could before he gently pushed some papers across the wooden high counter for her to sign and requested to see her passport.

As she bent to take care of the paperwork, her long, gold-lit red hair fell about her face. She pushed it away, looked up, and saw that he was staring. She smiled amiably as she could see he was about to ask a question.

"Are ye here on business then?"

She smiled and said ambiguously, "In a manner of speaking."

"Oh, aye then," was what he thought an appropriate response, and Nikki gave him a warm, friendly smile. It was obvious that he wondered what a young (and she could see he thought her pretty) woman was doing all alone at a hotel frequented by the senior crowd on this quiet street in Dublin. He couldn't know it was the perfect place for what she had to accomplish.

Quiet and secluded was everything she needed.

She wasn't who she had been, not anymore. She didn't feel young and pretty and ready to take on the world in the normal way young women did. Graduate school was a thing relegated to another time in the future... friends, love... out of the picture for now.

What her mother had told her was her birthright (or bane depending on how you looked at it) had come to pass. She was a vampire slayer, and she had more than slaying vampire after vampire on her mind. She wanted one in particular—the one that had murdered her brother! She knew the vamp was a female of some years and experience, and she knew that the dangerous female vamp was known as Deadly Moon.

She and her brother had lost their parents to a drunk driver when she was sixteen, and her brother had stepped in and become the sun, the stars, 'the everything' she needed to get through the heartache of their loss. Jack had even taken over where her mother had left off and did his best to train her to become the slayer she might one day have to be.

During those early days with her mom, she had kept her own counsel. She hadn't wanted to disappoint her mother by telling her that 'slaying vampires' was not something she had ever wanted to do.

And then her mother and father were gone, and she wanted to accomplish all the goals her mother had set for her. She heard her mother whispering in her ear, "Baby... I know this doesn't seem fair... all this extra work, but one day it will save your life. Want it or not, you are a slayer, and one of them might come for you..."

Jack wasn't a slayer by birth, but he had learned everything he could from his parents and took up the job of 'slayer training' when they lost their parents.

She'd allowed him to put her through all the trials, the gymnastics, the karate, the wielding of the deadly wooden stake, but now Jack was gone as well. He was gone because of a vampire, and she wanted to rip the creature from limb to limb and feed the pieces to the beasts of hell...

Nikki had money enough. Their parents had left them comfortably provided for, and Jack had made a fortune in the computer software business and left everything to her.

The weeks before she lost her brother, Nikki had graduated from NYU. Jack had managed to pull on a few friendship strings and got her started doing little fluff pieces for a national travel magazine. She had been accepted to graduate school and had been looking forward to it and the life that went with it, but... no longer.

She had to find his killer, and she had the advantage of her slayer abilities. She had questioned the police about what they knew, but all they had been able to tell her was that Jack Walker had met an incredibly beautiful woman at some charity function at Lincoln Center and that they had left together.

Jack had been found in a suite at the Plaza with his throat torn and most of the blood drained from his body.

The police thought it was a serial killer, but Nikki knew better. She called on her slayer skills and went to work. She quietly, unobtrusively took on her own investigation and painstakingly followed where the details took her.

It was leading her to a vampire of unusual abilities, and she would have to be careful, because although she might have super-hearing, super-speed, and super-strength, she could be killed as easily as any human. She _was not immortal_.

The same week that Jack had been mutilated and killed, she went out looking for information. She visited the clubs she knew vamps frequented in NYC when they went looking for easy prey.

She had walked into one dance club and was surprised to see a great number of vamps mingling with petty, expectant women. She made her selection and sidled up to him.

He wasn't expecting an attack from a human. He didn't know she was a slayer because she hid it well. And so her first encounter went off more easily than she had expected.

It wasn't difficult to get him into a position in the dark alley behind the club where she laid him low with the skill and the strength that was hers as a slayer.

Some of her success was due to the shock and surprise he experienced when she threw him hard to the ground. The rest was the point of the wooden stake held directly and threateningly to his cold heart. She explained to him then that she would free him if he told her what she wanted to know.

He wasn't a newbie, but he didn't have a great number of years or experience as a vampire, so he caved immediately and told her that the rumor was Deadly Moon had been with the Walker human. It was the first time she had heard a name in relation to the dangerous, 'never seen, ancient' vampire.

He told her everyone in vamp circles was talking about it because Deadly Moon did not usually make a spectacle of her kills.

He didn't know anything more, but instead of setting him free as she had promised, Nikki had made her first vampire kill.

Remorse? None. She had not kept her word—she had not released him when he gave her the information—but she had no regret. He wouldn't be able to kill some poor, hapless human, now would he?

Everything she did from that moment on was with the intent of finding Deadly Moon, the vampire other vamps seemed to fear.

Nikki knew enough to be discreet when she singled out a vampire for questioning... and killing. She never did so when other vamps could look on and listen in.

Her latest kill, two nights ago, had won her the information that Deadly Moon was in Dublin. Nikki still had no description of the female vamp. None seemed to know her, only _of_ her.

Nikki put aside these thoughts as she took the key the man at the counter handed her and went to the small elevator. She had taken the largest suite he had, as she didn't know how long she would have to be in Dublin.

She had been to Dublin and the Irish countryside once before, with her brother...

She arrived at her door, #110, and opened it wide before she stepped in. The day was misty and gray. Night would come fast on a day like this. She scanned the place with more than her eyes as she stepped inside. _All clear..._

Or so she thought.

A hand came from nowhere and clamped down on her mouth. Another strong, muscled arm went around her and pinned her arms at her side, and a voice with a distinguished English accent whispered in her ear, "Go home, Nikki Walker, before you get yourself killed."

She tried to spin around and see her attacker, but even with her super-strength she couldn't budge. One hand was still on her mouth, but the other managed to slip under her open jacket. She struggled hard then, harder than she had ever done before, but he was too strong and quick for her. He snatched her weapon and tossed it before he let go of her mouth and turned her to face him.

She could have screamed then, but she didn't. She didn't want to bring attention to herself, especially on her first day. And there was something in this one's aura that made her think he wasn't really there to harm her—after all, he had warned her off instead of immediately killing her.

So instead of screaming like a banshee, which she desperately wanted to do, she looked him over.

What she saw made her raise her dark eyebrows. He was tall, and his black hair fell in layered waves around a ruggedly good-looking face. His shadow beard added mystery to his chiseled features. His clothes were expensive and jet-black. Black leather jacket, black tee beneath it, and black jeans and silver-tipped black boots. Whoa—just who was this?

_Vampire_ — _that's who_! All at once Nikki's slayer sense kicked in and told her, _Stupid... he's a vampire._

As though reading her mind he chuckled. "Aye, then—that established—all I am here for today is to indulge in a reasonable discussion."

" _That established_ —what established?" she returned warily. Had he read her mind? Different vamps had different 'abilities'.

A short laugh escaped his lips, but then he grew serious all at once. "Let's skip the game playing, Nikki, shall we?"

"I will if you will, English..."

" _Again_ , game playing," he chided.

"I'm not playing a game. How could I when I don't know the rules?" She shrugged. "Besides, I don't play with strangers. You know my name... I don't know yours."

"Rules, eh? I shall have to list some for you. Firstly, and most importantly, stay out of _my way_ —meaning, don't look for Deadly Moon. As to my name?" He inclined his head and brought up his dark eyes to her face. "My name is Damon Drummond."

Nikki stiffened and shot him a warning look. "I have no quarrel with you, Damon Drummond. I don't know how you know what you do, but I don't follow other people's rules—especially when the person listing the rules is a... vampire. Deadly Moon and I... _we_ have a problem, _and I_ mean to solve it."

"You will have two problems if you keep trying to track her."

Was he threatening her? It felt like he was threatening her, and yet, she didn't really feel threatened. What then? Was he saying that he would be a problem for her if she didn't stop tracking Deadly Moon? Why? And if that was so, well then, he seemed to think a great deal of himself, and something told Nikki that he probably had cause to do so.

He was not like any vamps she had ever encountered. She also wondered if Deadly Moon was his lover. She eyed him speculatively, but before she could retort he had her shoulders and brought her in close. A sizzling, spidery electricity tickled the air between them.

"I have never seen anything like you, Nikki Walker. From the top of your fiery head to your dainty and dangerous feet, you are unique. You look at me with eyes the deepest shade of blue I have ever encountered in all my four hundred years, and it would be a shame to see them permanently closed."

"Are you threatening to do that—permanently close my eyes?" Nikki shook her head. "Then go ahead, have at me, because nothing is going to stop me. My brother's eyes were even more blue than mine, and his were permanently closed before his time... I don't mean to suffer the same fate... at least not until I get my ounce of justice for him." She held herself stiffly aloof. "So that brings us to _my rules_... the first being, stay out of my way, Damon Drummond, and perhaps I will let _you_ live." It was bluster, she knew. This vamp could do her in with the blink of his eye.

He smirked at her and said, "You will get yourself killed if you throw words like that at some vamp you simply cannot take because he has age and experience, and there are some out there, slayer, that you cannot take." He let her go and wagged a finger at her, "So you want to know if I am threatening you. Fine. Call it what you will, it is still a warning. If you pursue Deadly Moon, you will find yourself a target because your presence will become obvious in their world, and these are bad times in Dublin."

"You don't know me. You are not concerned for me, but for Deadly Moon, and so everything you say— _jaded_. I keep my own counsel."

"Relieve yourself of the illusion that you are any threat to _her._ You are like a fly she can swat out of her way."

"Then why are you here—warning me away?"

"I have my reasons."

"You have wasted your time."

"I see that..." He suddenly reached for her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. He bent to her face and whispered something that made her toes curl, not because she heard the words but because his low, husky, and sensuous voice rocked her hormones into place and made her body tingle.

She knew all at once that he was going to kiss her. He was actually going to kiss her, and she couldn't stop herself from wanting that kiss. What the hell was wrong with her?

She should stomp on his foot—kick him in the groan, wallop him one across the face, and break the mood. She had the strength, the skill... and absolutely no inclination to do so.

His mouth was on hers, at first gently and deliciously. She had no will of her own as her lips betrayed her good sense and parted to invite his tongue to stay awhile. And that was exactly what she got—a kiss that drowned her in passion and filled her head with exploding rockets. She couldn't think, she couldn't pull away, and she didn't want to.

Gone! Zap—he was gone faster than any vampire she had ever witnessed on the move.

She stood for a long moment, and the question reared its ugly head and demanded, _Were you under a vampire trance?_ The answer was a big fat _no_. It would have been such an easy answer, and one that could have wiped the shame from her conscience, but it wouldn't have been true.

Slayers couldn't be mesmerized by vamps—slayers were immune to most vampire magic. The next question sent the blood to her cheeks. _You wanted the vampire Damon Drummond to kiss you—didn't you, Nikki Walker?_

About Claudy Conn

Claudy Conn, a native New Yorker, now lives with her husband, Bob; their wolf, Cherokee; and Cherokee's son, Rocky Man, who weighs in presently at 190 pounds.

She loves horses and riding and raised her ten-year-old gelding Southern Pride from the moment he was born. She also loves gardening, swimming, skiing, hiking, and travel—and of course, reading, writing, but no, she says, no arithmetic!

To get her monthly news, her reviews for all her new paranormal romances, and excerpts, come on and visit her at her website: http://www.claudyconn.com

To see pictures of Cherokee—and her shepherd-wolf son!—have a look at her facebook page:

 http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Claudy-Conn-Paranormal-Romance-Author/135826686471445

Discover this and other titles by Claudy Conn at Smashwords.com:

Legend Series

_Aaibhe—Shee Queen_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/110252>

_Prince in the Mist_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/104045>

_Prince Prelude—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/159840>

_Spellbound—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96103>

_Shee Willow—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/103389>

_Trapped—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/112028>

_Free Falling—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92368>

_Catch & Hold—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/124602>

Time Series

_Through Time-Pursuit_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/210166>

Shadow Series

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/63037>

_ShadowHeart—Slayer_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/84350>

_ShadowLife—Hybrid_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/143173>

Risqué Regencies

_Oh, Cherry Ripe_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/135532>

_Myriah Fire_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/109011>

_Ruges, Rakes & Jewels_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/171997>

_Taffeta & Hotspur_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/179452>

Read More about Claudy Conn's Books

### Legend Series

Aaibhe—Shee Queen (Novelette)

This is a love story, but it is fringed with envy, jealousy, and bitterness—oh and more. It is laced with the havoc those devastating emotions can bring. It is about the seeds of hate born of love, and what havoc that hate can wantonly roar over even the immortals. This is a story of Aaibhe, queen of the Seelie Fae, because she deserves that it be told.

Prince in the Mist (Novella)

Fact one: By tradition and treaty, Fae do not interfere with the human world—it is against the rules. Fact two: For a Royal Fae prince who suffers from the ennui of immortality, watching and interacting with humans—especially lovely, spirited human females—can be entertaining. Fact three: When entertainment changes to affection, and affection becomes love, rules will be broken.

Prince Prelude—Legend

In this stand-alone tale and the backstory for the Legend series, we find ourselves in 1814. Gais and the Prince come head to head over a woman. We will see Lamia DuLaine when she first sees Julian Talbot, and we will meet the first Maxie Reigate. Come along and see their world unfold...

Spellbound—Legend

Maxie is a reluctant heroine who travels to Scotland to find and save herself. Julian is a Druid priest in a modern age, and he is full of guilt. Can Maxie turn to him, or will she turn to Prince Breslyn, a royal Fae hunk offering her everything?

Shee Willow—Legend

Half-human, half-Fae, Willow Lang has never felt she truly fit in either world, but she's doing her best to ignore her Fae nature. But when she finds herself in the middle of a conflict between the Seelie Fae and the evil Dark Fae, she must embrace her Fae powers in order to protect the Human world.

Trapped—Legend

Magical powers, a castle, and a charming prince sound like the ingredients for a fairy-tale life, but for BJ Mulroy, reality turns out to be a whole lot more complicated. The war between the Seelie and the Unseelie is heating up, BJ has been drawn into the fray... and there's the matter of the seventeenth-century hunk in the painting.

Free Falling—Legend

They call her Z and she is a handful ready to explode. She has entered the war against Gais and the Dark Fae and means to take him on all by herself. She is driven. Aaibhe, Queen of the Seelie has other plans, and she sends in Prince Danté to execute and preserve her wishes. Z and the prince meet and hackles go up on both sides.

Catch & Hold—Legend

Half-human/half-Daoine Fae Radzia MacDaun—Z to her friends—finds herself in the Dark Realm, where she'll have to fight Gaiscioch on his own turf. Danté, Prince of the Tuatha Dé and Z's lover, is not about to let her face this danger alone, however, and the two of them are thrust on a ride that takes them to the edge of life as we know it...

### Time Series

Through Time-Pursuit

Revenge is the driver. Will love be the equalizer in _Through Time-Pursuit_? Chance LeBlanc and Princess Royce are about to find out in this contemporary Fantasy Romance, picking up where _Catch & Hold—Legend_ left off.

### Shadow Series

ShadowLove—Stalkers

Shawna Rawley has no choice but to run when Pentim Rawley, one of the most evil vampires who has ever lived, discovers that she is his daughter. Chad MacFare has an offer for Shawna he thinks she can't afford to refuse: he'll protect her from Pentim and his minions. But Shawna doesn't trust the sexy immortal. She knows he has his own agenda—he wants to kill her father, and he wants to set her up as bait...

ShadowHeart—Slayer

Damon Drummond and Nikki Walker are on opposite sides. He is a potent vampire—she is a skilled and powerful vampire slayer. Problem right there... but when they look at each other, sparks of all kinds fly. Too much stands between them: He will live forever, she will not, and yet...

ShadowLife—Hybrid

WB and his clan have moved in and section by section Dublin is going dark. The team needs help, and they turn to a shapeshifter, Roxie MacBran.

### Risqué Regencies

Oh, Cherry Ripe

Cheryl Elton has been in London for three seasons and refuses to be courted. When her mother takes matters into her own hands, Cherry runs!

Myriah Fire

Myriah Whitney wants thunder and lightning, not a proper courtship and a sensible marriage. Then circumstances lead to an encounter with the mysterious Lord Kit Wimborne—in his bed, with both of them naked, no less!—and the meeting is an explosion of wills that finally sets Myriah on fire...

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

What happens when an eligible marquis pretends to be a rake and a gambler, and the woman he is supposed to be courting disguises herself as a masked French card dealer? Find out in this spicy, risqué Regency romance.

Taffeta & Hotspur

Hotspur wants Taffeta—how far will he go to make her his? Taffeta has a secret—will it land her in trouble?

