Siofra rolled over in bed, yet again yanking at hopelessly tangled bedding. She’d been tossing and turning throughout the night, her thoughts as mangled as her bedding. Lysander had steadfastly refused to answer a single question on the return trek through the Forbidden Wood, though his care had been scrupulously attentive, directing her under low hanging boughs and over fallen logs that she couldn’t even see in the darkening twilight.
She had pelted him with questions until they reached the main road of her village—suspiciously barren of villagers—where he squeezed her hand, bowed low, then swiveled on his heel to leave her.
“Wait! You can’t just leave me like this.”
He kept walking.
“I will only show up again tomorrow and plague you with my curiosity.”
He had paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, you won’t even remember me, Siofra.”
“But, why?” She ran after him and grabbed his barren hand. His skin felt rough against her gloves. “Please, tell me.”
“You were never meant to enter the Forbidden Wood. Sleep will rob you of the memory. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to forget you.” Then he vanished, her fingers closing in on themselves as his hand disappeared from hers.
Siofra choked back a sob. Why did she feel that the most important moment of her life had just been snatched away?
Before she had a chance to reason it through, Morg, their Jack-of-all-trades, stood at her side, holding out his arm. “Been looking for you all this day, lass. Lady Gretchen is fit to be tied.”
Siofra had given up and returned to her ancestral home, exhausted and morose. No amount of probing from her guardian had elicited a response from Siofra. If Lysander could keep secrets, so could she. No one would have believed her anyway.
She clutched the bedclothes in her hand and threw them off. Much as she appreciated their warmth, there were ideas she wished to record. If dawn would erase her memories of Lysander, she needed to write down everything that had happened and all her questions.
She grabbed up a fire poker and stirred the slumbering embers before tossing a few small logs in the fireplace. With a contented sigh, she placed a shawl around her shoulders and settled at her desk. Before she could see well enough to write, she required the lighting of two tapers. If Lady Gretchen discovered the extravagance, Siofra would hear no end of lectures.
Sometime later Siofra glanced up at the window where a pink dawn glittered through the mullioned panes. She looked back at her parchment, chewing her lip and nodding. That should be everything. She’d recorded the entire day with Lysander, what they’d done and what they’d said, close enough, at any rate. She’d even gone so far as to list her many questions. These, she reviewed…
- Why had a path appeared where none had been before, disappeared from view, then reappeared again?
- Why didn’t he want her to drink the water, but had given her that same water in a cup?
- How had he guessed her name?
- Why had he said they would discuss it later then refused to discuss it?
- Why had the day gone from light to dark when she felt she had been there only a short while?
- How did he disappear at will, reappearing somewhere new, without making a sound?
That seemed to be everything.
When strong sunlight tipped past the tops of the trees, she snorted. I haven’t forgotten a thing. And nothing would keep her from traipsing right back into that forest to visit Lysander again.
She dipped her quill in the inkwell.
- Why did he think she would forget?
She let the list fall to her desk. What if he wasn’t there? In the woods? Nothing would suggest he lived there. Who would sit day after day beside an isolated stream?
She would simply take the chance.
The decision made, Siofra dressed as quickly as she could, this time in trousers and boots. Let anyone try to stop her! Still, she rushed downstairs to the kitchen to grab rolls and some cheese before her companion or Lady Gretchen could catch sight of her unorthodox costume. Thankfully, Lady Gretchen was the type of guardian who remained abed until early afternoon, and the companion/maid she’d hired to keep tabs on Siofra wasn’t much better.
Once in the kitchen, more pleasant faces greeted Siofra. The family cook snapped at her behind with a cleaning cloth. “Now, Miss Siofra, where do ye think yer headed in them britches?”
“Never you mind, Mrs. Sgot…but don’t tell Lady Gretchen.”
Mrs. Sgot sniffed loudly. “As if.”
Siofra kissed the top of her steel-grey curls. “I know. I’ll likely be out all day. Don’t worry.”
Mrs. Sgot wrung her hands on the towel, opened her mouth, then closed it with a shake of her head. Siofra reached out to caress the wrinkled brown skin of her cheek. “I promise to take heed of my surroundings.” She reached in her pocket. “And I’ve got a knife.”
Mrs. Sgot nodded, turning back to a giant black pot on the stove.
Less than ten minutes later, Siofra stood at the edge of the Forbidden Wood. The trail once again led deep into the forest. And Siofra, never one to hide from a challenge, stepped into the misty green darkness.
Yesterday, she had hurried out of spite. Today, she didn’t want to lose a moment she might spend with her elven acquaintance. One question she hadn’t dared to pen on her list. Why would Lysander spend the rest of his life trying to forget her? No one in all her nineteen years had ever thought her remarkable, thus, her unmarried, un-betrothed status after two seasons. Or did he wish to forget her because she was such a fatwit?
She crashed through the undergrowth, not attempting to hide her approach, and barreled into the glen beside the stream. Alas, no Lysander. Tall green reeds blew toward water that gurgled happily, but no tall figure waited to greet her or harass her.
Out of nowhere, a giant black wolf bounded through the grass straight toward her, its yellow eyes full of rage, jagged fangs hungry for carnage. The scream that tore from her lungs died in mid-breath as the wolf roared his displeasure.
Siofra’s trembling hands raised her totally inadequate knife, and she prayed for courage. Dear God…Dear God…
Quick as a flash, a long form zipped past, diving into the side of the wolf as it jumped for Siofra. Her heart tripped in staccato beats. What could move that fast? What would attack a raging wolf? Their forms coalesced, moving too quickly for Siofra to gain a clear sighting.
Snarls and more roars kept Siofra’s frame shaking with trepidation. Whatever emerged from that fight as victor would not be in a joyous temperament. Should she run? She couldn’t make her limbs move, and she hated to leave whatever creature had leapt forward to save her.
Suddenly, there was nothing. No snarls. No fighting forms. No grunts. Only silence. Were they both dead? She took a cautious step forward, raising her head to peer over the tall blades of grass. Nothing. She took another step, barely breathing, her trembling hand still flourishing the knife before her. Absolutely nothing but indentations where the grass had been crushed by the struggle.
Siofra collapsed on the ground, sobbing, her arms wrapped around her middle. First, she lost the most wonderful, caring parents who had ever existed, and now, when she found someone who offered the merest glimmer of hope that life could be bearable, that too was extinguished.
“Lysander!” She beat at the ground with her knife since she had no other way to vent her frustration. “No! No! No more! Lysander, where are you!”
Strong fingers closed over her wrist and halted her jagged thrusts. “Say you aren’t imagining me under that knife.”
She twisted around and flung herself at his chest so hard they both ended up on the ground.
“Umphh.” The air whooshed from his lungs as her body collapsed over him. “Siofra, remove yourself,” he muttered.
She rolled away to sit up then looked him over when he didn’t move. Eyes closed. Labored breathing. One hand held tightly to his side, where an ever-darkening crimson stain revealed he was the one who had saved her from the wolf.
Without a word, Siofra ripped off the bottom of her long tunic then gently moved Lysander’s hand out of the way. She lifted his shirt to expose jagged claw marks across his skin. Biting back a gasp at the sight of the mangled flesh, she held her torn cloth against his wounds.
He grunted but didn’t open his eyes, and Siofra reached across his body to grasp his other hand and hold it tightly. “What were you thinking, you daft man?”
“Elf,” he whispered.
“Elf. What were you thinking, you daft elf?”
“What were you thinking, daft woman?” He took several ragged breaths. “I told you…wolves.”
“Hush, before you kill yourself.”
“Be fine. Give me a…moment.”
About thirty minutes later, Siofra dropped his limp hand and lifted the cloth to peer at the wounds. He was no longer bleeding, but he shouldn’t move. She set the cloth back in place then reached up to shove the hair back from his face. He still slept.
How long could she maintain this position, holding the cloth against his side? Of even more concern—where there was one wolf, there was probably a pack. Since they could smell blood from miles away…
She sighed. They were in trouble.
“What is it?” Lysander asked. “Why are you huffing like an angry cat?”
“An angry cat? I never…You shouldn’t be talking. And I’m looking out for more wolves.”
He pushed her hand away and sat up. “No more wolves.”
“What are you doing! Do you want to bleed to death? Those claw marks are horribly deep.”
He shifted his shirt out of the way and looked down. “What claw marks?”
“Those—where did they go?” Siofra bent closer. Where once she’d seen jagged cuts, there were only faint pink lines. She sat back on her heels. She should not be gaping at a man’s naked torso. “How did you do that?”
“More to the point—How did you get here? Again! You were supposed to forget this place. How did you get through the Forbidden Wood?”
“Aren’t you in pain?” She poked at his side.
“Siofra!” He placed his hand over hers. “Why are you here?”
“I remember everything. Why will you spend the rest of your life forgetting me?”
“Doesn’t matter now. Do you never listen?”
“Thank you, Lysander.”
His gaze lifted to hers. Grey eyes stared into green, and Siofra felt her heart lurch. A soft smile widened across his face. “You’re welcome, daft woman.”
She grinned. “I have questions. Many questions.”
“I imagine you do, but that will only increase your debt to me.”
When she stared blankly at him, he grimaced. “Do you not know the ways of the fey? For every boon taken, one must be offered in return. Please and thank you must be driven from any conversation with the fey.”
“I…I also brought bread and cheese.” She glanced around the trampled grass. That should count as a boon, of sorts. “—which I’ve lost.”
“Are you saying you’re hungry?”
She nodded.
He reached behind her and held up her brown cloth bag.
She took it, shaking her head. The bag hadn’t been behind her. It couldn’t have been behind her. She’d dropped it at the first sign of the wolf, and that was closer to the edge of the forest. Once again, Lysander had done something impossible.
She strode to the fallen log, pulling out her offering of bread and cheese. Mrs. Sgot had sneaked in some candied nuts as well. Bless her.
After spreading out the bag on the log like a tablecloth, Siofra arranged the bread, cheese, and nuts then looked up for Lysander. He added the bronze cup, now full of water, and seated himself opposite her.
She studied his expression for signs of unease. “Are you certain you feel no ill effects?”
“Tired, perhaps, but that will pass.” He gestured toward her attire. “What are you wearing?”
“Clothes from the secondhand store.”
“And you are dressed as a man, why?”
“Convenience. It’s no easy task to flounce about in stays and…well, other attire.” She wasn’t about to discuss her undergarments with him. They had long since breached the bounds of polite etiquette, but some topics were sacrosanct to a lady.
He chuckled. “I’m sure, but why choose today for your costume liberation?
“Even if I hadn’t found you, I wanted to run through the forest without the weight of my skirts and the inconvenience of getting snagged by the slightest twig. Have I offended your sensibilities?” She sincerely hoped not. After only one meeting, he represented freedom to her. Freedom to say and do whatever she liked without fear of censure. Had she been wrong?
“Not in the slightest. Your chosen mode of dress isn’t extraordinary for the females of my acquaintance.”
Females of his acquaintance? Not a pleasant thought. How many females—No, she wouldn’t dwell on that. It was none of her concern.
When she said nothing more, he raised a brow at her. “You have questions?”
She reached in the pocket of her trousers and pulled out the wrinkled sheet of paper. When he made no move to accept it, she shoved it in his hand. “Please?”
“Because you asked so prettily…” He unfolded the missive and read, nodding and smiling from one second to the next. He raised his face to hers. “Are they in order of importance?”
“Not at all.”
“You may choose two.”
She huffed, her mouth hanging open as she glared at him.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. I will choose two.”
“Absolutely not!” She yanked the sheet out of his hand. “We will discuss your knowledge of my name. Do elves use divination?”
“That question is not on the list.”
He was toying with her. She cast her gaze to the ground to hide her disappointment. Of course, she’d heard the tales that magical folk like to tease and torment humans, but he’d seemed so…real. Like a person, not a fantasy. If he was only toying with her—
“I’m not surprised your first question concerns your name. Females are inordinately consumed with themselves, particularly at your age when so much is expected of you.”
“And how like a man to take an inordinate amount of time to answer one question when a woman could have solved the problems of social injustice by now.”
He laughed, his grey eyes twinkling at her. “Doubtless.” He sighed. “I’m not sure you need the answers. It will change everything you know. Aren’t you content as you are?”
“Content?” She shook her head, backing away from him. “Content! You know nothing of my life. There is no contentment, no peace, no future. Why should I not hope that a random, bizarre meeting with you will change all I know.” She jumped upright, her hands fisted at her sides. “I don’t want what I know, but I don’t know what I want. Can’t you see?” She took deep breaths, attempting not to cry. She’d done with weeping. Months of it. A useless endeavor.
Lysander reached up to pull her back to the log. “I see more than you realize, which is why I hesitate. How can you know the knowledge you seek will be more satisfying than that which you now have?”
“Is it worse?”
“In many ways, though it would offer change.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.”
He sighed, looking off to the stream. “Give me time. We’ll start with the lesser questions while I…contemplate…how to tell you about your name.”
“Why did you want to forget me forever?”
“That is not a lesser question.”
“Am I that repugnant? I’ve spent two seasons, acting out the part of the shy, retiring debutante with a matchless reputation and a dowry not to be frowned upon.” She spread her hands. “As you see, I am still alone. Is my countenance or smile so fierce? My manner so vile? My polite conversation too impolite? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing. You’re absolutely perfect in every way.”
Her heart soared. “Truly?”
He chuckled. “I have never lied to you.”
“But you never really tell me anything, either.”
“Your hair is glorious in sunlight. Your green eyes are bright and shining with intelligence and curiosity. Your complexion is flawless, including the smattering of light freckles across your pert nose. I cannot speak of your figure because we are not related, betrothed, nor even formally introduced, but I do admire the sloping lines encased within those trousers.”
She gasped, and he chuckled. “You’re amusing, sometimes comical, and that is nothing to despise. We should all be able to laugh at ourselves. You’re courageous, even fearless—possibly to your harm. That small knife can accomplish little when faced with a real foe. Open your mouth?”
She complied without thinking.
He leaned forward, grabbing her chin. “You have all your teeth—”
“I am not a horse!”
“You show concern for others. You share what you have.” He pointed at their repast, forgotten on the log. “In short, you’re a most amiable, challenging companion. And I would spend the rest of my life trying to forget you because…I don’t want to. And I really shouldn’t think that way.”
His gaze lingered on her mouth, but she’d completely lost her voice. He’d just said what she’d spent two bitter seasons hoping to hear, but he was an elf. He was right! They would have to spend the remainder of their lives forgetting one another.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I feel the same.”
“You’re glad I have teeth?”
She smiled, punching his arm. “Actually, yes. It’s difficult to chew without them.” She picked up a piece of bread and plopped it in her mouth. This was a good day. “We could go for a walk.”
“There’s nothing to see, and we wouldn’t actually be going anywhere. This is all there is.”
“Why?” He raised a brow, and she nodded. “Another question. Fine, but you’ve only answered one. How about…”
“The day went from dark to light in such a short time because time is not the same here. As I told you yesterday…this is a barrier between worlds.”
“And why the view won’t change if we walk farther.”
“You really are exceptionally bright.”
She felt warmth color her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“You should return now. If you persist in daily wanderings until nightfall, they’ll lock you in your room.”
Lady Gretchen may not lock Siofra in her room, but she would assign some intrusive, hulking manservant to trail after her, thereby curtailing her freedom. Siofra snatched up her things and placed them in the bag before standing.
“You’ll be here tomorrow?”
He hesitated, and she reached for his arm. “You said you would explain…someday. I’ll be back, even if you aren’t here.”
When he still didn’t reply, she leaned forward. “Even if there are wolves.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”