FOREVER ENCHANTED Page 5

  Dropping to her knees, Marinda clawed her fingers into the soft earth, scooping up handfuls of sod and filtering it through her fingers. "Of course," she said brightly, brushing at something. She turned and held the huge, sparkling gem in her palm. "A diamond."

  "Of course," Bridin sighed.

  Marinda turned again and reburied the blindingly brilliant stone where she'd found it. Then she rose, slapping her hands one against the other to clean the rich black earth away.

  "Marinda," Bridin began.

  "Yes, I know, my lady. You want to know why I followed you."

  "Yes."

  "Well, you left your scrying sphere behind. Your crystal ball," she said, when Bridin lifted a brow. "And you'll need it."

  "What for?" Bridin asked.

  "I don't know just yet. But I know you will." She smoothed her knee-length tunic over her green hose. "So let's be on our way, then."

  "Marinda..." But the little nymph was already light-stepping past Bridin. She paused at the mouth of the cave and peered inside.

  "Is this the way to the other side?"

  "Not for you," Bridin said, getting to her feet and joining Marinda there. "You must go back. The mortal realm is no place for you."

  Marinda looked up at Bridin, her huge brown eyes so lovely, and so filled with the wisdom of the ages. She only looked like a little girl if one didn't look too closely. Staring into her eyes was like looking into the eyes of time itself. She tossed her raven curls and lifted her chin. "I'm coming with you, my lady. You are my princess, and where you go, I go."

  "It isn't safe."

  "You will need me."

  "Marinda—"

  "I can travel freely back and forth through the portal, my lady. I can keep you abreast of what's happening in Rush, and deliver messages from you to your people." She tilted her head and looked into the cave once more. "Pog thinks it a fine idea. Your mortal friend, Raze, wanted to come with you. But as you know, a mortal can only pass through the veil once. Raze would have had to stay on the other side forever if he'd returned with you now. And since he knows you'll be back, he chose to await you there." She shook her head. "That old mortal adores you, my lady."

  "I know." Bridin had hugged him desperately before they'd forced her through the veil. But even Raze had agreed that it was for the best. She'd been stunned.

  "Besides," Marinda said, "I've always wished to see the other side."

  "Pog is lucky I didn't do him harm," Bridin said sharply, drawing the nymph's gaze back to her. "I'd like to throttle him for this."

  "He was only obeying your mother's wishes," Marinda said. "The wishes of his queen, my lady. He loves you deeply, you know."

  Bridin softened, unwillingly. "I suppose that's true enough." She studied the small woman, drew a deep breath. "I suppose you'll pass as a child, so long as no one looks too closely. But you'll have to play the part, Marinda. And promise to return should I decide it's too dangerous for you to stay. Agreed?"

  Marinda nodded. "Of course, my lady."

  Bridin nodded. "All right then. You may come with me." Bridin picked up the crystal ball and tucked it into the cloth sack that had been pressed into her hands as she was delivered through the portal. Then she turned and took Marinda's hand. "Come. This is the way."

  Marinda's excitement was impossible to conceal as she walked at Bridin's side into the dark cave, all the way to the wider space at its rear. They circled the room once, clockwise, and then returned to the entrance. Bridin had to crouch to fit through, but Marinda was small enough to walk upright. They emerged again, into a rain-wet, dripping forest that looked like the one they'd been in before only on its surface. Any person of magic would know right away that it was not the same.

  "So this is it," Marinda said, sounding unimpressed as she glanced up at the gray storm clouds above. "Where do we go from here?"

  Bridin smiled very slightly, for the first time in many hours. "To my sister," she said softly. "It's been months since I've seen her. And I have not yet seen my newly born nephew." For a moment, the memories of the battle... of the blood... of Tristan's eyes meeting hers as he lay dying, clouded her eyes and made her stomach convulse. But she shook the sadness away and started forward, through the forest, over the path her sister's husband had shown her long ago.

  Brigit sat by the fire, singing softly and rocking her tiny baby in her arms. But her song stopped abruptly as a shiver of apprehension danced up her spine. It was the second time she'd felt this way in the space of the past twenty-four hours. Something was wrong. She felt it in her soul.

  Adam rose and came to gently take the sleeping child from her lap. He bent to kiss the baby's forehead before taking him to his cradle. He tucked a blanket over the baby and then returned to his wife, kneeling in front of her.

  "What is it, Brigit?"

  She met his eyes and smiled. "You know me too well," she said softly.

  "Well enough to know when something's bothering you. Come on, tell me. What's going on?"

  Brigit closed her eyes. "I wish I knew." She took his hands and let him pull her to her feet. Then she drew him to the big window that looked out over Cayuga Lake, and leaned into his strong embrace as she stared out at the pouring rain pummeling the dark water. "Something's happening. I don't know what, but—"

  Her words were cut off by a soft rapping at the front door. And she whirled, her eyes widening, and whispered, "Bridin!" She pulled free of Adam's arms and ran from the study, through the double doors into the living room, and then flung the front door open.

  Her sister stood on the step, rain-drenched and so, so sad. Her long golden hair hung down her back, clinging to the Robin Hood-like clothes she wore. My God, she had a sword belted around her waist!

  Brigit shook herself, and wrapped her arms around her sister's cold, wet shoulders, pulling her close, hugging her hard. "Bridin. Thank God you're here. Come on, come inside, get warm."

  Bridin did so, and then Brigit realized her sister wasn't alone. There was a breathtakingly beautiful little Wood Nymph at her side. "Come, both of you," Brigit said quickly, and she tightened her arm on her sister's shoulders as she pulled her inside.

  Adam closed the door behind them, gripped Bridin's hand, and squeezed it hard. "God, it's good to see you," he said. "Come in by the fire. You're soaked to the skin. Are you all right?" He glanced down at the Wood Nymph and smiled. "You poor little thing, you must be half-frozen." Adam snatched a blanket from the sofa and gently draped it over the little woman's shoulders, then he ushered them both into the study, he and Brigit both talking at once.

  Bridin pulled free of him and remained where she was, standing near the door, looking into her sister's eyes.

  Brigit glanced at her husband, and he nodded, understanding her unspoken message. "Come along," he said to the Wood Nymph, who nodded and went with him, leaving Brigit alone with her sister.

  "What's happened?" she asked softly.

  Bridin stared into her eyes for a long moment. And then she fell into Brigit's arms, her shoulders shaking with sobs, her tears warm. "He's dead, Brigit. That bastard Tristan of Shara is dead. And I ought to be happy. I really ought to be..."

  Brigit closed her eyes and held her sister tighter.

  Tristan sat close to the small fire's glow. It wasn't cold in the forest. He shouldn't be shivering. But he was, and even the snapping flames couldn't chase the chill away.

  He'd nearly died. Probably would have if not for Tate's perseverance. The childlike man had made poultices of herbs and roots and soil, and had packed them over the hastily stitched wound in Tristan's shoulder. He'd changed them every hour, even through the nights. He'd brewed a foul-tasting tea and forced Tristan to drink a cupful at regular intervals, but refused to say what went into it. As bad as the stuff tasted, Tristan wasn't sure he wanted to know. Tate had also taken great pains to repair the broken chains of Bridin's two pendants. And then he'd fastened them about Tristan's neck, and warned him sternly never to remove the charms.


  It was the most bitter irony, Tristan thought now as he stared into the dancing flames. For years he'd plotted and schemed to find a way to get hold of the pendants, to remove them from Bridin's throat. Now he had the things. But he'd lost his kingdom.

  "To my own brother, no less," he muttered. "Tate was right all along."

  "Of course Tate was right." Tate's voice came from the forest beyond the firelight, and startled Tristan. Tate stepped into the circle of yellow glow. "Tate is always right," he said. "You'd best remember it from now on."

  "I think," Tristan replied, "that this is one lesson too hard learned to be easily forgotten."

  Tate smiled and moved closer, leaning over the rickety tripod fashioned of tree limbs, and removing the small tin pot.

  "Have you had your tea yet tonight, my lord?"

  "Of course," Tristan lied, slanting his gaze at Tate's face to judge whether or not he'd be believed.

  "Of course," Tate repeated, and he filled a tin cup, replaced the pot on its hook above the flames, and turned to press the obnoxious concoction into Tristan's cold hands. "Drink."

  "First tell me what you learned on your reconnaissance mission, little friend. What is the situation?"

  Tate sighed heavily and sat down beside Tristan. "She's fine," he said with a knowing glance at Tristan. "Escaped your brother unscathed, thanks to your foolish heroics."

  Tristan closed his eyes and felt every tense muscle in his body relax. She was alive. Thank the gods.

  "Knew you'd be glad to hear it, seeing as how you nearly got your head lopped off to save her."

  Tristan didn't like the speculation he saw in his friend's big, dark eyes. "You're the one who made me promise to protect her," he said, smiling. But then all thoughts of mirth fled him. "I couldn't just let him kill her, Tate."

  "Nor am I saying you should have. But it would seem to me there might have been a less life-threatening way to intervene."

  Tristan lowered his head. "It didn't seem so dangerous at the time. I never believed my own brother would strike me down."

  "But you believe it now."

  "I have no choice but to believe it." He lifted his head again, searching Tate's eyes. "Where is she? Is she safe from Vincent?"

  Tate shrugged. "Depends on how determined he is to have her, my lord. She's left. Gone back to the other side."

  Tristan frowned. "She couldn't have. She wouldn't have left Rush. Not for anything." He couldn't believe it was true. That Bridin could walk away, knowing he was languishing in his own dungeons while his brother accused him of treachery. Unless... unless he'd misjudged her all along. Perhaps she really did hate him as much as she claimed.

  "No, Tristan," Tate said softly, putting a hand on Tristan's uninjured shoulder. "It isn't that at all."

  Tristan rolled his eyes. "Stop reading my thoughts, nymph."

  "But they make for such interesting reading." Tate grinned at him, but then his face turned serious again. "Your brother has announced to the kingdom that you're dead, my lord. Bridin... Well, they say she took the news very badly."

  "Did she?" And just why should that bit of news make him feel so good?

  "Yes indeed. I'm told she collapsed in grief, and cried enough to flood the rivers. Her followers forced her through the doorway, Tristan. And you know she cannot return without the pendants."

  Tristan nodded. "Good, then. At least I don't have her to worry about. Only my traitorous brother." But he wasn't thinking about his brother. He was thinking about Bridin. Had she truly grieved for him? Cried for him?

  "Drink your tea."

  Grimacing, Tristan sipped at the stuff. The taste sent a shudder through him, but he took another drink. Whatever it was, it seemed to be helping. Or... something was.

  "We need to make a plan, Tate. I've been thinking on this, and I know there have to be knights in the kingdom who will believe my version of events over my brother's. We have to find them, contact them somehow, and let them know I'm not dead. And we need to begin gathering evidence against Vincent... evidence that will prove—"

  "No, my prince. That is not the way we'll retake the kingdom. For one thing, public sentiment has turned against you, and against Bridin as well." Tristan frowned, but nodded at Tate to go on. "The night before she attacked the kingdom, several outlying villages were raided and burned. The attackers wore the garb of the forest dwellers, and were led by a golden-haired female."

  Tristan shook his head slowly. "Not Bridin," he said without hesitation. "No, she wouldn't turn against her own people. Not if her life depended on it."

  "You're certain?" Tate asked.

  "Of course I'm certain."

  "You know her very well, don't you, my lord?"

  Tristan closed his eyes, and instantly saw her as she'd been years ago. A golden child, held in captivity. By him, a prince only ten years her senior. Even then it had torn at him to have to keep her that way. But he'd had no choice. Her eyes... Gods, he could feel them staring into his, and into his soul, even now.

  "I know her," he whispered, "better than anyone else ever has, or ever will."

  "Good. That will make our plan a great deal easier."

  Tristan's head came up. "Bridin has left the realm of magic, Tate. You said so yourself. She's no longer a part of this. It's between me and my brother now."

  Tate got to his feet and paced in a circle around the fire, stopping again only when he arrived at Tristan's other side. "I'm afraid, my prince, that she is very much a part of it. A vital part." He held up a small hand when Tristan would have objected. "Hear me out, my friend. You know my advice is sound. You trust me, don't you?"

  Tristan looked away with a sigh, then looked back at Tate once more. "You know I trust you with my very life. Go on. Tell me what you think."

  "I think," Tate said, "that your brother's rule is solid. He's had months to plan for this, Tristan. Years even. From the very beginning he encouraged you to place his own closest confidants in positions of power and trust. Most of your own knights are truly loyal to Vincent. And now, with him blaming those raids on Bridin, and blaming her escape on you..." Tate sighed and shook his head. "No, Tristan. I fear you'll never be able to regain the throne. Not alone, at least."

  Tristan got to his feet, careful not to use his left arm, or even move it. "If not alone," he said, looking down at Tate, "then how?"

  "As king," Tate said, tipping his head back so he could meet Tristan's eyes. "And for that, my lord, you will need a queen."

  And his meaning was very clear in that moment. Too clear. "No," he said. "Bridin would never agree to—"

  "Bridin won't know, my lord. Not until it's too late."

  Sighing in frustration, Tristan began pacing. "You speak nonsense, Tate."

  "No, Tristan, I speak with the wisdom of a hundred thirty years, plus six. I, too, have been devising a plan. And mine is far superior than anything else we might attempt. The lady Bridin has had a message from beyond, from her very own mother, through the magic of a scrying crystal. She's been told she must remain on the other side until she finds a man who will return as her partner, her husband, and her king. She knows not who this man will be, only that she will find him in the mortal realm."

  Tristan's head came up, but he did not turn around. "She's gone there to... to seek a husband?"

  "She was given little choice, my lord. Don't you see the opportunity this presents to you? Especially since the Tristan she claims to hate is a man she believes to be dead."

  Tristan turned slowly, staring at Tate in disbelief. "You're suggesting I go there, find Bridin, and somehow trick her into believing I'm someone else? Trick her into marrying me, Tate?" He shook his head. "It's impossible."

  "Now, Tristan, would I suggest it if it were impossible?"

  Tristan blew air through his teeth and lowered his chin.

  "My lord, I have magic in me. This you know, as you've always known it. I can alter your appearance. Not to any great extent, but slightly. Enough to fool her."

  T
ristan's head came up slowly. "And can this magic of yours also make the woman love me, Tate? Enough to marry me? Enough to place in my hands the crown she considers hers alone?"

  Tate shrugged. "I'm a Wood Nymph, not a god. That part will be up to you. Although..." He bit off the rest of whatever he'd been about to say, and gnawed his lower lip. "Think of it, Tristan. The two of you together... Nothing could stop you then. Not even the machinations of your brother. If the people saw you, hand in hand, they'd believe you. Don't you see?"

  The plan, Tristan had to admit, held certain appeal. Ah, but it would never work. Bridin would know him. She'd know him.

  "Eventually, perhaps," Tate said, reading his thoughts yet again. "That only means, my lord, that you will have to work fast. Before she realizes the truth."

  Tristan stared into the fire, but he was seeing Bridin's eyes. "And what then, my friend? What happens when she does realize the truth?"

  "That will be a problem we'll have to deal with when it happens. One step at a time, my lord."

  Grating his teeth, Tristan paced. "I don't know," he said.

  "It's the only way," Tate said, and the tone of his voice left no room for doubt.

  Closing his eyes, and praying he wouldn't live to regret it, Tristan said softly, "The only way. Well, then I suppose we don't have much of a choice, do we, Tate?"

  "No, sir, I don't suppose we do."

  Tristan nodded once, firmly. "Then so be it."

  Chapter Four

  BridIn was glad of her sister's help before long. Brigit had held her through that first long night as she'd poured out the tale of all that had happened. The comforting Brigit gave was like none she'd known before. Not since their precious mother had been taken, murdered, her body disposed of by those cruel invaders so that they couldn't even wish her a proper farewell. Having Brigit's arms around her that night was very much like having her mother back again. And she'd needed it. Desperately.

  Of course, she'd had to pull herself together eventually. Brigit told her she would heal, but Bridin doubted it. Even the hours she'd spent snuggling tiny nephew Jonathon failed to take away the pain. And it shouldn't hurt this much. She hadn't lost the kingdom forever. She'd get it back.