“Because she is a person. She matters.”
“She does not matter when she betrays ye and causes ye to feel even more isolated.”
“Give me a chance to work it out with her. Please?”
He curled tighter around her and kissed her shoulder again. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“I will be kept informed.”
“I promise.” She wiggled back against him and hugged his arms tighter around her. “Now, go to sleep.”
Even before opening her eyes, Emily sensed something was wrong—or at least, very different. Without moving and doing her best to appear still deep in slumber, she listened and reached out with her senses as Ishbel had tried to teach her so many times. She had never managed it that well before. But this time, she fully intended to conquer the elusive ability.
Rustling. The rustling of purposeful steps. It had to be Inalfi bustling about the room. She always came in after Gryffe rose and went out to do whatever he did so unbelievably early every morning. But there was something else.
Emily centered herself by counting her slow, deep breaths, then envisioned the bedchamber, searching it with her inner sight as well as what made its way to her ears. The hushed yet sharp thud of drawers, the abrupt click of the wardrobe’s door, and the hurried thump of the water pitcher tattled on Inalfi’s current frame of mind. No surprise there. Although how the maid couldn’t possibly know that her chieftain and his lady had set things right—Emily’s cheeks flushed hot. There had a been a few times where they had gotten very loud. The entire keep had to of heard them making up.
She didn’t relish the idea of speaking to Inalfi and asking her if she wanted to leave, but if she didn’t do it first thing, Gryffe would do it for her. Rather than open her eyes and start the day with that unpleasant task, she kept them shut and continued sweeping the room with her senses. Was she procrastinating? Yes. But only for a little while.
Then an odd brightness caught her inner eye. It was beside the window, but there wasn’t sunshine beaming into the room. That was impossible. That window faced the west. And the faint tinkling of metal against porcelain—a spoon in a teacup, maybe? Ishbel would be so proud of her for getting this far without giving up and popping open her eyes.
“Our lady will wish to bathe this morning,” a lilting voice, the voice of a woman, said. “But tell the lads to bring plenty of cool water along with the hot. Too hot of a bath will not be permitted for our lady in her condition.”
Emily almost gave herself away with a groan. Apparently, Gryffe had put the word out that they were expecting. Was he really that certain? More importantly, was he accurate?
“Aye, m’lady,” Inalfi said in a subdued tone. “I shall see to it immediately.”
My lady? Emily couldn’t remember Inalfi addressing anyone but her that way. The bedchamber door creaked, then thumped shut.
“She is gone now, Lady Emily,” the unknown woman said, her lilting voice made even more musical with amusement. “And she does wish to stay, if ye so choose to allow her to do so.”
Holding the bedclothes to her chest to hide her nakedness, Emily pushed herself up in the bed and scooted back against the headboard. The unexplainable light she had sensed was the woman sitting at the table in front of the window. Even though her apparel was an overskirt and jacket of wool dyed in subdued tones of burgundy and gray with a fichu of white at her throat and lacy white cuffs peeping out of her sleeves, the lady emitted an inexplicable luminance. Maybe it was her silvery blonde hair or the otherworldly creaminess of her complexion, but she seemed to glow, for lack of a better word.
“Uhm…” Emily inwardly cringed at her lack of hospitality, even if this was her bedroom that the stranger had invaded. “Since you already seem to know who I am…uhm…who are you?”
The woman laughed, her gleaming smile as sparkling and filled with light as the rest of her. “Forgive me, m’lady. I am Tayda, the Bright. Sent by the beneficent Queen Nicnevin to be yer lady-in-waiting. Formerly, I was a courtier for the beloved queen and pleased her greatly. Her Majesty felt I might bring ye the same comfort and companionship I provided to her.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Emily said, trying to sound polite and grateful even though she smelled a rat—a rat named Gryffe. Apparently, he had been quite busy not only informing one and all that they might be expecting a child, but also telling his mother that Inalfi had lied, and his wife needed a friend.
Tayda swept toward her with a steaming cup of something that smelled as delicious and tempting as her favorite caramel iced frappuccino from the coffee shop back in Jersey. “Here ye are, m’lady. A special blend I developed long ago. ’Tis one of my favorites.”
“Thank you.” Emily accepted the cup, breathing in the steamy fragrance that took her back home and made her smile. “It smells wonderful.”
Tayda offered her a graceful nod before returning to her seat at the table. “I know ye heard my request for yer bath. I thought it might refresh ye after yer eventful night in the Dreaming and then yer return home to beget the next prince.”
Emily choked, coughing on the sip that had gone down sideways. “Beget the next prince?”
“Oh dear. Forgive me.” Tayda rushed to her, took away the cup, and rubbed her back. “Do ye need a basin?”
Clearing her throat, Emily shook her head. “No…no…it just went down the wrong pipe. Thank you. I’m fine now.” She tried to assume a calm she didn’t feel. “Did Gryffe tell you we had made a prince?”
“Oh no, m’lady. As soon as the wee one took hold in yer womb and sang his song, all of Fae heard him and rejoiced that Prince Gryffe had fulfilled the prophecy rather than Prince Roric.” She glanced around as if to ensure they were truly alone. “None of us much cares for Prince Roric. He is always so petulant.”
Emily stared at the woman, completely at a loss. “I am sorry. I’m going to need a little more information here. Gryffe never said he was a prince. In fact, I believe he mentioned that Nicnevin had chosen Roric as her heir—not Gryffe.”
Tayda waved away the words with a laugh that sounded like the clear pinging of fine crystal. “Oh no, m’lady. Queen Nicnevin must bow to the Unseelie prophecy that has always been and always will be. Whichever of her sons found his fated mate first and sired a child, that son is heir to the throne of the Dark Fae and his son—or his daughter—is the next prince or princess.” Tayda gave Emily her drink once more and pulled a chair closer to the bed. “Children are rare for the Unseelie. ’Tis why our kingdom is sadly dwindling. When yer precious child awakened in yer womb, we all heard him.” She smiled. “At least, we believe it is a wee prince. His soul’s song was strong like the roar of a mighty beast.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial look. “But I heard the brightest laughter along with that roar. Who knows? Maybe a wee princess decided to come along as well, to ensure her brother behaves.”
