Not a sight, not a sound, nor a smell penetrated the veil of Siofra’s acrimonious thoughts as she trudged a path through the woods. Ladies must not go out without gloves. Ladies must not go out without a bonnet. A chaperone. Ladies must not ride astride. Ladies must not portray greater intelligence than their male counterparts. That was forever a challenge! Ladies must not venture into the Forbidden Wood.
She halted in mid-step. No. No one at all ventured into the Forbidden Wood. That was categorically true. No one ever did.
She let her foot descend slowly to the ground, her head shifting to the left as she surveyed her surroundings. Astonishing— the number of thoughts that flickered through one’s mind from one footstep to the next. Blueish Evergreens, heavy with scent in the chilled morning air. Creeping vines, such that one would find within any forest, with leaves in varied hues of yellow, orange, and red. But, where were the howling werewolves and ogres set on tearing a man, woman, or child, limb from limb? For an eerie, forbidden forest, she noted nothing remotely threatening. Perhaps those creatures were nocturnal in their aggression.
Her head swung to the right, and she sighted similar vegetation, perhaps a tad more ferns and toadstools. A fairy kingdom? Stuff and nonsense! She laughed, a rather disruptive sound in a silent forest. Which reminded her. Ladies must not laugh aloud. A simple titter behind one’s handkerchief or fan is sufficient to convey one’s amusement. Keep your smiles minimal and proper.
Her footsteps settled even harder against the pine needle-laden path. Ladies must not stomp their feet. Must not run. Must not slide down the bannister. Her laughter came out as a bark. That infraction might have been over the top. She reached back and rubbed her behind. She still felt the bruise from her inopportune landing on the hardwood floor. Ladies must not rub their behinds. She rubbed again at the tender spot. Ha! That would show them.
She took off at a run, or as close to a run as her long skirts allowed, gales of laughter lifting into the atmosphere. Freedom! If no one ever entered the Forbidden Wood, she could act as outrageously as she desired. Who would see?
Her swift steps pelted the ground until eventually, she was bent at the waist, gasping for breath, her mad dash abandoned to the reality of weak muscles and lungs. Running, it seemed, required more stamina than she currently possessed. She brushed a dangling blond curl from her eye and felt the damp trace of perspiration. Ladies must not perspire.
A bird called, and she resumed her trek down the path. If the birds had nothing to fear, neither did she.
Minutes later the path veered sharply then widened, and she heard the gurgle of water. A stream, perhaps? She would dearly love some water. Ladies must not drink from their hands.
She hastened onward until she slid to an abrupt halt, cartwheeling her arms to prevent tipping over, not thirty feet from a wide stream…and an extremely tall man. Though he stood on her side of the stream, he faced the glen on the other side, completely unaware of her approach.
Should she make her presence known or flee the way she’d come? His broad shoulders and tapered waist looked formidable enough, but his arms!— at the worst, he could easily crush her or overpower her and take…well, take liberties. She shuddered. Assuredly, that was the worst. A ruined woman may as well be dead, and to think of a man touching her in that manner… She wrapped her arms across her ample bosom.
His clothing told her nothing. She’d never seen such strange breeches. A type of buckskin? And tucked into leather boots with no heel whatsoever. Where were his waistcoat and jacket? That billowy shirt could never protect him from this chill autumn air. Out here in the forbidden wood, he couldn’t be up to anything good.
She took a step backward, and instantly, the sound of a snapping twig brought him jerking around to gape at her. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
A lady does not encourage unsuitable strangers by maintaining eye contact, but she would be insane to take her eyes off such a man. She tensed her muscles to run.
“Ah, human.” He nodded to himself, turning away as if she were no more interesting than a dirt clod. (alternative wording: of no more consequence?)
“If that is the extent of your polite conversation, your tutor was sadly lacking in social graces.” And wardrobe. And accent. She’d never heard it before. She raised her chin. “What else would I be?”
He shifted toward her, and his gaze traveled up and down her form before he tilted his head. “How did you get here?”
“The path.” She jerked her head around to indicate the direction from which she’d come then gasped. “It was right—” She shook her head before twisting in a circle. Had she gotten turned around? But there was no path in any direction, just an unbroken line of dense shrubbery and trees. She faced the stranger again. “I assure you there was a path.”
“And you thought it wise to traipse through the Forbidden Wood, all alone. What of the magical creatures, the ogres…the elves?”
“You believe that, do you?” She huffed, not completely surprised. With hair such an unfashionable length, clothes that didn’t even suit a farmer, and that strange accent…what could she expect?
His mouth tilted up at one corner, but there was no light of humor in his grey eyes. “I do, indeed.” Within seconds, he faded from view, only to reappear directly beside her.
Her mouth gaped as she gasped. “How did you…” But she knew. Everyone knew, though she’d assumed it all folklore. “You’re an elf.”
“What else would I be?”
Her cheeks flamed as he threw her words back at her. “Please forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” She sighed, and when he said nothing more, she added, “It certainly explains your clothes and speech…and height.”
His smile widened. “You know, you’re truly not supposed to be here.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m not a human female incapable of protecting myself from magic and monsters.”
“Not you, too.”
He cocked his head. “Pardon?”
“If one more person tells me what a lady is and isn’t supposed to do, I shall…I shall…”
“What shall you do?”
She stomped her foot. “I shall do everything I’m not supposed to do…after I scream.”
He extended his hand in a flourish. “Pray, continue.”
“Truly?”
“Enjoy yourself.”
She stomped her foot again, then the other. She took off her bonnet and threw it in the air, screeching like a fishwife selling wares. She pulled all the pins from her hair and let it topple down her back. It fell to her waist. Later that night when her maid tried to brush through the tangled mass, she might regret the action, but now, it felt glorious. If only she could yank her stays out from under her dress.
“Very pretty,” the elf said. “I like how the sun catches the golden lights. Why do you keep your hair restrained?”
She looked to the sky. He was right. The sun had come out. And what a forward compliment. He thought her hair pretty? Not a single man of her acquaintance had offered a compliment nearly as personal. “Thank you. I keep my hair arranged on my head because it’s expected.”
“You do everything that’s expected?”
“Not everything.”
“Like entering the Forbidden Wood, where creatures can eat you—or worse. Tell me about the path.”
“I was walking along and suddenly, there it was. I was…not in a glad frame of mind, so I kept walking. What could be worse than being eaten?”
“You don’t want to know. I’ll take you back.” He moved closer to the woods behind her, clearly anticipating her acquiescence.
Instead, she walked to the stream, still thirsty, and bent to reach out her hand. Before she could scoop the water, he knocked her back.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He pulled her up to her feet. “There’s a reason there are no paths into this forest. This river is a barrier between worlds. Do you want to disappear from your life, never to be seen again?”
“By drinking water?” She jerked her arm free. “I am unaccustomed to men who take such liberties.”
“You are unaccustomed to everything that could occur in this wood. Should I leave you to yourself? You wouldn’t survive one day.”
“I…no.” She studied his boots so she wouldn’t have to look at his face. Only idiots failed to heed danger merely so they could flaunt society’s expectations.
“Shall we begin again? My name is Lysander.” He bowed slightly then raised. “And yours?”
She considered him. One of the other ancient tales she’d heard strongly advised against sharing your name with magical folk. It gave them power over you. His eyes looked honest enough, but elves were known for their charms. “Why should I trust you with my name?”
“I have given you mine.” He waited, but when she wasn’t moved to answer, he scowled. “Truly, I have, but never mind. Offer me any name that suits you for the sake of conversation.”
“Amy. I’ve always loved that name.”
His nostrils flared as if he smelled dung. “You are not an Amy.”
What was wrong with Amy? As a child, she’d often pretended that was her name. “Fine. If you find Amy so objectionable, why don’t you give me a name?”
“We are agreed that is not your name?”
“That is not my name.”
“Siofra.”
She gasped. Hell’s bells. What dark magic was this? The despicable smirk on his face made her want to swing a tree branch in the direction of his head. “How did you know?”
He shrugged.
“No, really, I demand you tell me.”
The smirk left his face, and his eyes softened. “Trust me. You do not want to know.”
Her stomach sank. What did that mean? She certainly did not trust him. How could he possibly have her best interests at heart? Now that her parents had died, how could anyone?
She staggered and almost sank to the ground, but his arm jutted out to catch hers. He led her to a fallen log. “Perhaps we should sit.”
Siofra refused to meet his gaze, staring at the gurgling water of the stream and the endless line of forest beyond. “I’m still thirsty.”
“If you promise not to move, I’ll get you a drink.”
She nodded.
Lysander stepped away from her, bent over the stream, then returned with a bronze cup in his hands.
Siofra tipped it back and drank her fill before returning it to him. “And why couldn’t I just bend down and drink from the stream myself?”
Lysander huffed in and out as he considered her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like for me to show you the way out of the forest?” He glanced up at the sky, which for some reason was already darkening though Siofra had left home less than two hours ago to a slowly brightening morning sky. “There’s still time.”
“Time for what?”
“To return you to the life you know, the people you love.”
“They’re gone.”
His eyes widened. “Gone?”
“Dead. My parents did not survive the crash of their carriage three months ago. I am alone…in a way.”
“In what way?”
“The ones that matter. There really isn’t anyone of importance left. Servants, a solicitor, a guardian…” Her mouth twisted. “A companion.”
Lysander chuckled. “To which to you object—the guardian or the companion?”
“Both. They are a never-ending list of must-nots when all I want to do is…”
“Feel the loss,” they said as one voice.
Her gaze met his, soft with compassion, and she nodded.
For close to five minutes, neither said a word, letting the call of a bird and the soft rustle of leaves offer solace. His hand stretched out to nudge her arm. “I’m sorry to interrupt your contemplations, but…it really isn’t safe here—for you.”
She twisted her head to see his eyes. “Are you not a worthy champion? I’m fairly certain your name means Defender.”
“We can discuss the meanings of our names another day. For now, I’ll return you to your home, rather, to the edge of the wood.”
“Yes, I can see how it would be problematic for me to return with an elf in tow, a male, at that.”
He stood and held out his hand. She let him pull her up and tug her toward the path from whence she came, which, for some unknown reason, had reappeared.