Watching the Faerie flounder for words, Hall wanted to remember this moment forever. The Fae were never caught without something to say.
“I... I...” she stuttered, her arms moving from her hips to cross protectively in front of her. “I cannot. What you ask is beyond my ability to give you. You’ll have to find another gift.”
She wasn’t telling the truth, and he had no intention of letting her off the hook so easily. After all, he’d sworn to move heaven and earth to give Bridget her heart’s desire. One small Faerie was not going to stand in his way.
“I know my history. It is the responsibility of the Fae to reunite those who should be together. And while the powers of most Faeries are limited while they remain in the Mortal world, you are an exception. You do have it within your power to do as I ask. I’ve seen the results of your having used those powers all around me.”
“You don’t understand. I’m forbidden from using my power while I’m here.”
Obviously the two of them had very different ideas of what the wordforbiddenmeant.
“Then how do you explain what you’ve already done? You brought Lady Danielle here. You brought my brother, Chase Noble, here. And not from a mere continent’s distance, either, I might add. And those are only the instances I know of. It’s clear enough to me, my lady, that though you scream a pretty argument about the integrity of the Norns’ tapestry, you’ve pulled more than a few threads from it your ownself. Why will you not do this thing, which the greater good would deem to be your responsibility anyway?”
“As a matter of fact, I am expressly forbidden by my goddess and the Faerie High Council from doing exactly what you ask of me.”
“To hell with your High Council.” Those pretentious Faeries had always been a high-handed lot, eager to accept glory but slow to accept the obligations glory conferred. “Your people broke the world with their warring. Your people are responsible for reuniting the soul pairings that were torn asunder, thanks to their greed and lust for power. Itisyour responsibility to put things back as they belong. Yours and all your people’s.”
This was a perfect example of why he hated dealing with the Fae. Were it not for Bridget’s desire to see her brother happy, he would wash his hands of these creatures forever.
“And what right have you to criticize me,” Syrie demanded, “to order me to do that which I know I must not? Is it not bad enough that your rash behavior has called down the attention of every being in every world to what happens here in this very spot? There are serious consequences for disobeying my goddess. Consequences I’d rather not pay, thank you very much.”
“Consequences and your false goddess be damned!” Thunder pounded the sky above them and the earth trembled under their feet. He shouldn’t allow his emotions to run wild, but for Brie he would do anything. “It is your duty. This is what you were born to do, Elf!”
“You well know I’m a Faerie, not an Elf!” she shouted back, her temper ignited by his. “None of you are ever satisfied! No matter how much I tread the line, no matter how often I give. Fine: I’ll grant you what you want. But it won’t stop with Jamesy. It never does. You say that’s all you want now, but there’s always another in need of their one true love. Malcolm, Christiana, now Jamesy. Next will it be all of his friends? And all their relatives? The friends and relatives of every man, woman, and child at Castle MacGahan? So be it, Northman. No matter the wrath of my goddess, may each of them find their own true SoulMate! There. There is surely nothing left for you to ask of me. Is that what you wanted?”
“It is, indeed, sweet Elf!” With a kiss to her forehead, he picked up the furious little Faerie and swung her around in a circle before setting her down to race off to the keep. He had no particular desire to be near her when she had a chance to reconsider the magnitude of what she’d done, or the full consequences of her tantrum.
Wedding Day
SYRIEAÍBYRNran her hands down the front of her dress, brushing away imaginary wrinkles. She needed something to keep her hands and her mind busy.
She wished, for perhaps the one hundredth time today, that Patrick were here instead of at Tordenet. As annoying and bossy as he could be, he was always sure to give her a platitude to console her or an argument to distract her from her worries.
And worries she had aplenty.
When the Tinklers had passed through the last time, Editha had carried a warning from the goddess herself. Danu had fixed her eye upon Castle MacGahan and the Great Lady would brook no more indiscretions on Syrie’s part. No more tinkering with individual lives. Bringing Dani here had been the gift she was granted when she’d been allowed to pass through the curtain separating Wyddecol from the Mortal Plane with her Magic intact.
She should have returned to Wyddecol as soon as her reason for being here was fulfilled, but she hadn’t. She’d found pleasure in this world with these people. She’d felt needed.
But being needed occasionally led her to use her forbidden Magic, and because of that, the goddess was displeased.
So displeased, in fact, she’d sent Editha to inform Syrie that she was forbidden from returning to her home world until she could prove herself worthy of her powers.
And should she fail? Editha had been clear on that point, too. The goddess herself would see to Syrie’s punishment if she used her Magic again.
All she had to do was mind her actions and go about her days as if she were a Mortal. It should have been so simple.
But today, guilted by that great oaf of a Northman, Thor’s annoying grandson, she’d gone far, far beyond an individual bit of tinkering or indiscreet use of her Magic. She’d agreed to set to rights a great swath of what her people had broken well over a millennium ago.
While a tiny corner of her heart rejoiced at the virtue of her actions, her rest of her internal organs quivered in fear of the imminent consequences.
It was only a matter of time. There was no way something this large could sneak by unnoticed. Retribution would come, swift and sure, and Syrie’s world would never be the same again.
MALCOLMMACDOWYLT, LAIRDof the MacGahan, skimmed his gaze over the crowd filling his great hall. They were his people, his responsibility, and for the first time since he’d made that claim, they were all safe from the evil that had hunted him.
A great weight had lifted from his shoulders with Torquil’s death. The people of MacGahan could look toward a future free from the threat of his half brother’s vengeance.
He felt ten years younger. Even the headaches that had plagued him for the past year were gone.