Harvest had come and gone. Michaelmas as well when the crops must be in. Time it was now for the final ploughing of the fallow lands, followed by the sowing of the winter crops. There was less traffic to the manor house these days, and the turning of the seasons was nigh. My breath caught, and all the hairs on my flesh seemed to stand upright.
Not merely nigh.Here.
I had lost track of time. Yet nearly three months had passed since we arrived at the manor, and All Hallows’ Eve was this very night. The taste of winter was in the air, and my pulse raced despite my exhaustion. The Veil between the worlds was soon to part.
It is naught to do with me. Not anymore. I have made a life among the mortals, at Thomas’s side.
But did I speak this aloud, it would have caught in my throat.
I was meant to heal wounds and illnesses, to serve as Thomas’s helpmate and love. This land might be rough and unwelcoming to those of Faery blood, but I had become familiar with it and knew how to protect myself.
I could not say the same for the land beyond the Veil.
Queen Una’s mongrel child had not been safe there. Mairi Grieve had deemed it so.
Would she be safe now?
Come away, come away,the spirits called to me, as they had at Beltane. And then,Come away, you mongrel child.
“No.” I said it aloud and meant it firmly.My place is here.
If the guardsmen could be prevailed upon to let me in.
When I left, the rain had poured down heavily, thunder rolled, and lightning threatened to strike. The guards had been distracted, miserable and concerned with taking shelter from the rain. Now they stood, dour-faced and unmoving, daunting as the iron portcullis itself.
“I came from the manor just yestere’en,” I told them patiently. “His Grace will be expecting me back.”
If he had even noticed I had left.
“On His Grace’s orders do we make you wait,” one of the guards told me. “Only family and household are permitted in the manor at this time.”
A far cry from my first arrival, when it bustled with townsfolk, knights, and local nobility, readying itself for the harvest. As the year drew to its end, ’twas natural for things to slow down, time to be spent indoors and among one’s kin. But I was different. I tended young Malcolm. I was all but handfasted to the baron’s elder son. Surely an exception would be made for me.
I left the manor only yesterday yet felt like a mortal who wandered into Faery and returned to find seven years had passed. Even in the brilliance of the autumn sun, the manor house appeared darker, emptier, colder, as if it stood cursed.
A harsh, metallic tang was in my mouth, and the stench of iron all around me.
What has happened?Why did a sense of foreboding creep up the back of my neck, slither down the surface of my skin?
Come away, come away. Samhain is nigh.The voices grew louder and more insistent.
“I am certain I am expected,” I said. “I was tending to young Malcolm...” I trailed off as the guards dropped their gazes to the ground. “Is something amiss with young Malcolm?” Despite my efforts, had he taken a turn for the worse?
The guards exchanged nervous glances, then one of them said, “Hold, mistress. Someone will be out to assist.”
Thank Mab for that.In the pit of my belly, sourness roiled. An unwelcome chill befell me, the cold seeming to come from my own heart.
Presently, a figure emerged from the manor.
Thomas.
His garb today was dark and fine, like unto a very prince, albeit a somber one. He stood rigid, like a bundle of twigs propped against each other; move one even slightly, and he would fall completely apart.
For a moment, he stood as if there were bars between us, cold iron neither one of us could touch. The portcullis might have fallen right there, locking him inside and me out. This I could not endure. I all but threw myself at him, pressing against the familiar contours of his broad chest.
Does he not recall our bond, that he owes me his life?
At first, Thomas did not move. Then his arms came gingerly around me, as if I might shatter from the contact. As if he might break around me.
