FOREVER ENCHANTED Read online

  "I..." Bridin shook her head hard and averted her eyes. "No, of course not, I just..."

  Marinda brushed a hand across her forehead and her eyes fell closed.

  "Marinda? Gods, what is it? Are you all right?"

  The small woman nodded. "The magic... it's exhausted me, my lady. If you insist on seeing the crystal's message with your own eyes, I fear it will have to wait until later, when I feel stronger. This mortal world... My, but it's draining to my soul."

  She took the crystal with her and wandered from the room. And Bridin tried to tell herself that it wasn't a trace of guilt she'd seen in Marinda's eyes just before she'd turned away.

  Chapter Six

  The fire alarm went off just before dusk. Marinda had been in the small kitchenette peeling vegetables for dinner and insisting she'd be ready to give the scrying crystal another try as soon as it was fully dark. Bridin had been pacing restlessly, trying to consign herself to the fact that she might actually have to marry this man. Charm him. Make him care for her. A man who reminded her of Tristan so much that it was painful.

  Painful? What a foolish notion.

  "What is it!" Marinda shrieked when the piercing alarm rent the silence of their apartment. She came rushing from the kitchen with her hands pressed to her ears and her eyes as round as silver dollars. "Make it stop, my lady!"

  The shrill bell continued ringing, though, and Bridin put her arms around the small woman's shoulders, bending down to do so. "Hush, Marinda. It's only the fire alarm."

  "Fire?" Marinda cried, dropping her hands and staring up at her. "Only fire?" She pulled free, swinging her head this way and that. "Where? Where is the fire?"

  Gripping her hand, Bridin tried to calm her. "It's probably nothing, darling. Come, we're supposed to go outside when the alarm sounds. Just in case."

  "Oh, my," Marinda said. "Oh, goodness. Oh, my. Hurry then. Hurry."

  Together they walked into the dim hallway, closing the apartment door behind them. They took the stairs down to the first floor and moved quickly past the line of mailboxes on the wall. Bridin sniffed the air, but smelled no hint of smoke. Still, best to err on the side of caution. She clung to Marinda's small, chilled hand as they stepped out the double front doors and onto the front stoop. Their apartment was actually the second floor of a three-story house. She imagined, in better days, it had been one large home.

  On the sidewalk they were joined by the elderly Mrs. Fletcher from the floor below, and the two young men who occupied the floor above. Mark and Reggie held hands and stared up at the building they called home. Bridin resisted the urge to smile at her own tunnel vision. She'd considered them both as possibilites for the man she would marry for the good of her kingdom. Perhaps it was best that she'd finally found the One. If, indeed, she had. At least she would no longer have need to consult the crystal about every male she met here.

  Screaming sirens brought her gaze around, and she saw large red vehicles crowding to a stop out front. A dozen men in yellow coats and odd-looking helms poured from the noisy machines and made their way into the building. A car pulled in behind them, and another man, dressed unlike the rest, emerged. He started for the building, then paused near her side. "Is there anyone still inside?" he asked.

  She recognized his voice, blinked in surprise, and turned to stand face-to-face with him. "Stone? What are you doing here?"

  "Bridin! This is your building?"

  She nodded.

  "Are you all right?" His hands clasped her shoulders, squeezing gently to emphasize the concern in his voice.

  "Of course." She narrowed her eyes at him, wary of his presence. "But what are you doing here?" she repeated, glancing down at his attire: jeans and a sweatshirt. "You're not a firefighter."

  "No. But I know how to care for wounded. I saw women and children standing out here, saw the firefighters, and thought I might be of some help."

  She tilted her head to one side, still suspicious of him. "That's a very noble thing to do."

  He smiled a little, and her stomach tightened. "If it made you think I'm noble, dear lady, then it was well worth the effort."

  Was he—what did they call it—flirting with her?

  "You're shaking. This frightened you more than I did this morning, didn't it?"

  She lifted her chin. "Nothing frightens me."

  "No?" He lifted one brow in a way that reminded her so much of Tristan that she sucked in a sharp breath. "Then why wouldn't you have lunch with me?"

  She held his gaze. "I told you, I had to see someone."

  "And tonight? Do you have plans to spend time with someone tonight?"

  "Yes," she said. Grating her teeth and stiffening her spine. "As a matter of fact, I do."

  He sighed and lowered his chin.

  She hoped she hadn't just dashed her chances, in case he truly was the one. "Perhaps... some other time?"

  He met her eyes, looking triumphant. A look that frightened her. "I hope," he said, "you won't make me wait too long." Then he looked past her as she struggled to understand what he'd meant by that remark. The firefighters were coming out of the building, shaking their heads and muttering. Stone left her to speak briefly to one of them, then returned to her side. "False alarm," he said. "You don't have to be afraid anymore."

  Oh, if he only knew. She was more afraid now than ever. But she'd die before she'd let him see it.

  Marinda managed to extricate herself from Mrs. Fletcher's grasp, and was coming toward them.

  "I have to go, Bridin," Stone said. "But... I'll see you again. And..." He reached into a pocket, extracting a card with a telephone number scrawled in black ink. "Keep this. In case you change your mind."

  She looked at the card and wondered if he always carried his number scribbled on a scrap in his pocket, or whether he'd had this on hand just for her.

  He turned and hurried back to his car just as Marinda reached Bridin's side again. She was jarred away from watching his taillights fading in the distance by a tug on her oversized shirt.

  "That was him, wasn't it?" Marinda asked.

  Bridin nodded. "Yes. That was him." The others were already filing back inside. The firefighters climbing back into their trucks, rumbling away. Bridin sank onto the top step, lowering her head to her hands. "Oh, Marinda! What am I going to do? I know nothing about feminine charms or womanly wiles. Even if he is the one, how will I manage it? How will I go about making this man fall in love with me?"

  The sound of Marinda's laughter was like a silver bell in the night. "Bridin. My dear, sweet princess. You're a fairy! Enchanting men is what fairies do best."

  Bridin swallowed hard. Yes, she knew about the allure of the fay. She'd even employed it... long ago. When she'd foolishly tried to soften her captor's heart toward her. Her captor. Her beautiful, dastardly captor. "Tristan," she whispered. Something wet rolled down her cheek. She swiped it away angrily, refusing to admit, even to herself, that it was a tear.

  "You are a fairy princess, sweet Bridin. You'll get through this, because you know you must."

  Sniffing, Bridin nodded and got to her feet. "Come, then. Let's consult the crystal once more. I don't wish to put myself through this unless I know I have to."

  "Still doubting me, my lady?"

  Bridin looked down at her. "The crystal told you his destiny and mine were tangled, Marinda. But it didn't say straight out that he was the one I am to marry. You said that on your own."

  Marinda lowered her eyes guiltily. " 'Twas what I felt."

  "Don't forget, Marinda, I have magic in me, too. You shouldn't try to deceive me."

  "It wasn't that—"

  "So we consult the ball again." Bridin turned and led the way back up the stairs and into their apartment. Marinda followed her into the bedroom where the crystal was kept, resting beneath a black velvet cloth on the dressing table.

  But when they entered the room, the crystal was gone.

  Bridin heard Marinda's sharp gasp. But she didn't believe what she was seeing
. Not until she'd turned the apartment upside down searching for it, without success.

  "It's no use, my lady. The crystal has been stolen. I can't believe—"

  "This is terrible," Bridin whispered. "Gods of Rush, how will I ever know now?"

  She paced the floors in anguish as Marinda tried uselessly to comfort her. And finally she sank onto the sofa, feeling utterly defeated. "There's only one thing left for me to do," she said softly.

  "And what's that, my lady?"

  "I have to see him. The ball... it seemed to indicate... that he might be..." She sighed, lowering her head. "I have to rely on my own judgment now. Or at least until we get the crystal back again, Marinda. I'll see this man. I'll... I'll test him. Try to learn whether he is, indeed, a suitable king for Rush. Whether he's even capable of ruling. And perhaps my fay sense will tell me all I need to know."

  "Perhaps," Marinda said. "It is a good plan, Bridin."

  Bridin looked at her questioningly, but Marinda only nodded hard. "Yes indeed. A good plan."

  Closing her eyes and biting down on her lip to battle her fear, Bridin took the card he'd given her from her pocket, and reached for the telephone.

  Tristan tucked the pendants he wore inside the collar of his white cotton shirt, shrugged into the lightweight, camel-colored jacket, and then struggled for twenty minutes with the ridiculous necktie, before tossing it to the floor and cursing it.

  "Don't give up so easily, Tristan." Tate opened the menswear catalog and thumped his forefinger against the model on the slick, glossy page. "You have to look like this."

  "To hell with looking like that. I'll go without the noose."

  Tate opened his mouth to object, but Tristan silenced him with a glance. Tate shrugged, and smiled. "All right, fine. Now, remember all we've discussed. The flowers. The wine."

  "Alcohol goes straight to the heads of fay folk, Tate. You know that."

  "My point exactly." Tate winked and strode over to the table where Bridin's recently liberated crystal ball rested. He stroked it lovingly. "I was good, wasn't I? No one even saw me."

  "You were good," Tristan conceded. "But I truly doubt Bridin needs that ball to see me for who I am."

  "So move quickly, Tristan. Before she sees anything. Sweep her off her feet, as they say here."

  Tristan grumbled, checking the collar once more to be sure the pendants were out of sight. "I should take these things off," he said. "It's foolishness to wear them."

  "And take the chance she might find them and take them back?"

  "How could she possibly—"

  Tate crooked his eyebrows. "Same way I found her crystal. She's not a fool, Tristan. No, you keep those pendants on at all times. It's far safer that way."

  Tristan shook his head. As he left he could still hear Tate's voice calling after him not to forget the flowers and the wine. Not to forget to show his best side. To impress her. To convince his worst enemy that he was fit to rule his own kingdom.

  She was nervous. He could see it at a glance. Of course, she would be nervous. He was nervous, and he was Tristan of Shara! He'd never, in all the years he'd known her, expected to be dealing with her like this. Romancing her, charming her, seeking to please her. The woman who'd cost him his throne. What he'd rather be doing was throttling her.

  And even as he thought these things, he knew they were not true. He wanted her, just as he'd always wanted her. Hating her, just as he'd always hated her, did nothing to tame that desire.

  Bridin stepped out into the apartment's corridor, pulling the door closed behind her, when he rang her bell. She didn't invite him inside. Which was just as well, if he was to keep that little Wood Nymph Marinda from setting eyes on him. Bridin's eyes, those sparkling sapphires, were dilated. Wide and expectant. And... and what was this? They were dusted with a trace of iridescent powder of the same golden hue as her glorious hair.

  She'd painted her eyelids? And her lips as well, he noticed. For him?

  The realization startled him, and made him take a better look. Then he wished he hadn't. The dress she wore was of a deep blue silk, and it hugged tight to her body, stopping at midthigh. Her long, elegant legs were encased in silk stockings that glimmered and shone, and made his fingers itch to run over them. And the top of the dress... well it seemed to be missing. No sleeves, nor straps of any kind. It barely covered her breasts, squeezing them so tightly that the creamy mounds spilled above it. He couldn't take his eyes from the swell of them, not for a very long time. Not until she gently cleared her throat.

  He looked up quickly, meeting her eyes, seeing a hint of smugness in her gaze. So she'd meant to distract him with the beauty of her shape. He should have expected as much from a conniving, scheming fairy.

  "You look lovely," he forced himself to tell her. And it was utterly true. He simply hated this act of fawning over her.

  "Thank you." Her gaze shifted downward, toward his hand at his side, and he belatedly remembered the flower. He held it up, and she took it from him, burying her nose in the red rose's soft petals and inhaling its scent. "It's perfect," she whispered.

  "Like you," he said. And he managed not to grimace as he blurted the compliment. Her face colored nicely, though, so it must have sounded sincere. It was, in fact. She was quite perfect. She'd always been.

  "I'll wear it tonight." She met his eyes and smiled slightly, oozing fay charm and trying to make him feel her allure. It wouldn't work, he vowed. It had never worked in the past. He was not susceptible to her magical enticements. His desire for her was a purely physical one. She'd never mesmerize his heart. He wouldn't forget his goal here. Trick her into marriage and then force her to return to Rush... to Shara to help him regain his kingdom. Nothing more.

  There was nothing more. His throne, his kingdom, was all that mattered. His father's lessons echoed in his ears, even now. And he'd learned them too well to forget. Shara was his destiny. He was born to keep that kingdom for his people, and that purpose was his only one. He had no time for distractions of the heart.

  She snapped off the rose's long stem, and placed the blossom in his hand. He looked down at it, then up at her again. "Will you pin it on for me?"

  All innocence. The vixen. "What shall I use for a pin?"

  She lifted her hands to the back of her head, and a second later her golden locks fell free, spilling over her shoulders. Gods, but she did have beautiful hair. She held up a single hairpin. And he took it from her, commanding his fingers not to tremble.

  Slipping the rosebud's now stubby stalk into the hairpin's tight grasp, he reached out and attached it to the very center of the dress. The backs of his fingers brushed over warm, silken breasts as he did so, and he closed his eyes for just one brief moment, savoring the firm roundness he touched. Then he bit his lip and drew his hands away. She would not enchant him.

  "Where are we going tonight?" she asked, her voice coming out slightly hoarse. She cleared her throat.

  "That's a surprise," he told her, taking her hand, ignoring the perfect fit of her hand in his. He led her down the stairs and out the front door. And then he heard her gasp very softly, and looked at her to see those eyes widen as they took in the limousine that waited at the curb. "Surprised?"

  She nodded. "You shouldn't have..."

  "Oh, but you don't know my plan, beautiful Bridin."

  She looked at him, tilting her head to one side so that her golden hair slid down along her bare arm. "Your... plan?"

  "To sweep you off your feet." He released her hand and moved to the car, opening its rear door and holding it for her. "Your carriage awaits," he said. Just as he had rehearsed with Tate, though he knew too well that Bridin of the Fay was far too sensible and practical a woman to fall victim to such flimflam efforts at seduction.

  She smiled, a trembly little smile, and got into the car. Graceful as a dancer, she sat, then drew her long, silk-encased legs in after her. Scowling at his physical reaction to the way the woman moved, Tristan ordered himself to stop looking at her l
egs, and got in beside her.

  There was a tap on the apartment door, and Marinda scowled at it, not answering. The tap was repeated, though, more demanding this time. It was then followed by a voice. A voice she knew well. "It's me, Marinda. Open up, will you?"

  With a gasp of alarm, Marinda leaped off the sofa and hurried to release the locks. She stared, wide-eyed, as the man pushed past her to come inside.

  "Well, close the door, for the love of Rush! We can't be seen together."

  Marinda pushed the door closed, but kept one hand on its knob. "You shouldn't come here! My lady Bridin might return at any moment!"

  "Nonsense." His tone was harsh, but his eyes soft as they searched her face. And then he smiled. "I've missed you."

  Marinda's anger vanished when he opened his arms. She curled into them and kissed his cheek. "Oh, gods, but I've missed you, too, you scheming devil."

  Tate held her tightly for a long moment. When he released her, she looked up into his eyes. "Tell me," she asked him. "How go things on your side, love?"

  "Ah, the fool still thinks he hates her. But I've convinced him she's his key to the kingdom." He stroked her hair. "I've also convinced him that you will recognize him should you see him, so he's making efforts to steer clear of you."

  "Ah, that's a relief. Wouldn't he be surprised if he were the one who recognized me, instead? He's seen us together more than once, on the other side."

  "Yes, and he's too smart a man not to figure out our plan if given the slightest clue." He hugged her tighter. "And what about Bridin?"

  "Resistant," she said. "Refusing to believe he's the one. Praying he isn't. I still think it would have worked better to do this without the disguise, Tate. Her heart belongs to Tristan, though she'd deny it with her dying breath. She'll not give it to another."

  "But he's not another. That's the beauty of my plan."

  Marinda shook her head and paced away from him. "She mourns him so. In secret always, but oh, how she mourns him! It's cruel to let her go on believing him dead."

  Tate sighed. "It will only be for a short while, sweetheart. Just until they're safely wed." He came up behind her, closing a hand on her shoulder. "It will have to be a short time, love. I'll not put up with this separation for much longer."