Chapter Two
Analee led him through lush fields burgeoning with all manner of wildflowers, across streams and brooks swathed in the ghostly mist that almost seemed alive the way it followed them, weaving in and out among the trunks of ancient hawthorns and young saplings that seemed to sigh and sway.
The mist parted and revealed up ahead a red-and-white striped canopy—a tournament tent, nestled deep in a little clearing in the whitethorn grove, where it gave way to oak and ash. The flap was turned back and waiting.
Nothing seemed real, and yet, it was. Otherworldly visits were hazardous at best, legend warned. Dangers lurked in wait at every turn for mortals sojourning in the parallel dimension—dangers that could trap a man forever, or devour him body and soul. Had he fallen into a trap? Was he about to lose his immortal soul? But that was before Analee, Goddess of the Dream Well. As Analee began to undress him he spared little worry over his soul. She had bewitched him.
How beautiful she was! Her perfection moved him. What had she said? That she may take a lover for a night? Only one night? But mayhap that was a trick? Had he not heard when a man entered the Realm of the Fae that time slowed? One night would pass for him, yet when he returned to his world, he would discover seven years had gone by!
“You said that you were granted the chance to take a mortal lover for one night?” he asked, almost afraid she might to evaporate like the mist at any moment. In truth, he little cared if one night was seven years, or seven centuries. He would be her lover as long as she would have him. Love her, honor her, worship her.
How strange that the word love had formed in his mind. He was a seasoned warrior, and he had bedded many a lass, but love had nothing to do with it. He was of the firm belief that a warrior should have no truck with love. Thus far, he’d managed to dodge Cupid’s darts, but that, too, was before this magical Goddess of the Well had come to him. Though she had not asked that of him, the emotion came unbidden. Analee reminded him that there was such a thing as love, and such a wondrous thing was missing from his mundane existence.
“Until the dawn,” she murmured.
Analee wound her arms about his neck and threaded her fingers through his dark, wavy hair. Her touch was like a lightning strike, the grip of those skilled fingers sending shockwaves through his loins. Gritting his teeth, he shut his eyes and groaned, as she fisted her fingers tightly in the locks at the back of his neck, and arched her back, drawing him closer.
She said, her voice throaty and soft, “I am yours ’til the sun chases the moon from the sky.”
“And after then?” he questioned. “What if I want more than one night?”
She gave him a poignant smile. “There be no bargains betwixt us. No promises of tomorrow.”
“You have bewitched me,” he said, through a heavy sigh. “One moment, I was struggling to stay afloat in a freezing maelstrom of high-curling seas and flesh-tearing winds. Then, I knew I was going to bleed to death, die beside the pool. You came and healed me, saved me. Now, I am here with you in this warm misty place. Mayhap, I died… Have I crossed over? Have I somehow breeched the span and entered the Otherworld?”
“Shhh,” she murmured, grazing his cheek with her lips. “Our time has begun. We must not waste a heartbeat by spending it with words.”
Gracefully like a cat, she padded to a trunk in the corner. How lithe she was, as if she floated on air. He followed her, burning with the need to touch her, taste her, be a part of her. Instead, she held him at bay with an armful of what looked like cloth made of spider silk spangled with stardust—for its sparkle was nigh blinding.
“Put these on,” she said. Analee handed him a sheer garment, so fine he feared to force it over the contours of his muscular body. Nonetheless, he did as she bade him, and found the gossamer fabric to be quite sturdy. It fit him like a second skin—as if it had been made for him—a diaphanous raiment the color of winter, and glittering with snow.
His skin began to tingle. At first, the sensation was faint, so faint he could almost think he imagined it. The strange feeling increased. Almost painful, as if the ethereal film was trying to merge with his skin. Garlon felt a breathless sensation of panic, but it soon subsided.
“And this,” she added, handing him a headdress with antlers and a half mask attached. She nodded her approval as he slipped it over his head. She swirled a billowing cape about her shoulders, made of the same twinkling winter cloth that hid none of her charms, and raised the hood.
Garlon looked on, enraptured, as she donned a shimmering winged mask, her eyes, the color of dark water, glazed with desire, burning for him. What passion smoldered in that sultry gaze, passion he had not yet tasted. He could but stare, consumed by lust and longing. Her mystical allure was infectious.
She held out her hand. “Come,” she said. “We must join the others. ’Tis a night of rejoicing and celebration.”
“What do we celebrate?” Garlon asked, fighting the sense that all this was unreal.
She gave him a mysterious smile. “Life and death...life and death, my Knight of the Realm.”