Thomas stared at me a moment then chuckled. “You need not have bothered. I knew it was you, lass.
“My wood nymph, Bess-Grieve-you-seem, returned to the mortal realm at last.”
I blinked at him, mouth wide in wonder.You knew? You saw?And then, twisting my face,What did you know and see?
The shepherd stared at me. A butterfly alit on the side of his face, and he distractedly flicked it away. A bee could have stung him, and he would have done the same.
“Did you think I would not know you, whatever form you chose?” he finally asked. “I know the scent of you, your warmth, I feel the weight of you on the earth, whatever your seeming might be. I always have.”
I shook my head. What he implied, what he spoke of, seemed more of fae senses than mortal. I squinted at him, looking for the greenish paste I had seen in visions of Mairi Grieve, the ointment spread around her eyes to see through any glamour. There was none.
Why was his face so beautiful? It wounded me so.
“I remember the night you left as though it was yesterday.” He turned from me, and his gaze was distant, as though he stared into the past. “I had fallen from my steed, cornered by that ungainly Host, limbs tossed every which way. The beings who looked down on me, with their snarling hounds lunging and drooling, so vicious were they, and so cadaverous. I nearly wet myself in fright.
“But you were there, came between me and the Host before my men—well, then they were my father’s men—had any hope of getting near. You revealed your true nature to the Wild Hunt and, I think, to yourself. But I had always known.
“You saved my life twice.” His eyes were intense upon my face. “Was I meant to forget that—like the wolf?”
You remember the wolf?Shame flooded through me, shame like I had never permitted myself to feel on the other side of the Veil. A mortal’s shame, no less.
“I am sorry.” These were words the Queen of Faery was never meant to say.
I said them anyhow.
Thomas cocked his head at me. “I never thought you were a saint, my love. Lord knows, I have my faults as well. For one thing, I dearly love a woman who is not my wife.”
My breath caught, my hand fluttering to my breast.Still? After all this time?It was the worst and the best news I had ever had.
Thomas stepped forward, cupping my cheek in one hand. “I told you once. No one is perfect. We leave that to the angels and to God.” He shrugged and smiled bitterly. “The rest of us muddle along the best we can.”
Was that what I was doing? I did not feel like the all-powerful, all-knowing Queen of Faery much of the time. It was a relief to hear from him I did not have to be.
My skin craved Thomas’s touch. A thousand pixies darted about inside me. Thomas no longer smelled of old wool, but the essence of him still made me weak in the knees.
The scent of roses, calendula, and honey wine emanated from me, wrapping around the shepherd in a ribbonlike caress. The arbor shed its leaves and berries to crown my plaits; gorse sprung up wherever I stepped.
Thomas shook his head and took a step backwards. “I cannot submit to your enchantments now. I am a married man.” His eyes avoided my own.
“Margaret,” I said.
He nodded. “Like I said, we all do things we have no wish to, simply because we must.”
He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “I have tried to be the best husband I can to her, even though my heart lies elsewhere, trapped in a faery bower I cannot hope to find.” He took a long, shuddering breath. “She now carries my heir.”
“No.” I stumbled back into the arbor, bruising my hips. It was still less painful than the words he’d said. Margaret of Roxburgh carried his child.
I should have known.Hadknown. His betrothal to Margaret had put me to flight. But to father her child...?
The shepherd king is mine. He owes me his life. Is this how I am repaid?
I am the queen.Lightning filled me; I wanted to claw out his eyes, make him regret he had ever been born. Force him to his knees before me, crush his neck under my foot.
The trees shook around us, alder dropping their catkins to the floor.
I was the woman who loved him, too.
I pictured Thomas as he once was, splashing me with the bathwater, nuzzling the side of my neck, rutting with me like a beast under the blankets until we were spent, and curled in each other’s arms. I had loved that Thomas. For his sake, I bid the storm grow quiet inside me.
