Beyond the Highland Mist

Page 4

A slow smile slid over Grimm’s face. “A lass who doesn’t want you. A lovely, nay, an earth-shatteringly beautiful one, with wit and wisdom to boot. One with a perfect face and a perfect body, and a perfect ‘no’ on her perfect lips for you, my oh-so-perfect friend. And I also wished to be allowed to watch the battle.”
Hawk smiled smugly. “It will never happen.”
The wind gusting sweetly through the pines carried a disembodied voice that drifted on a breeze of jasmine and sandalwood. Then it spoke in laughing words neither man heard. “I think that can be arranged.”
CHAPTER 2
THE MYSTICAL ISLE OF MORAR WAS CLOAKED IN EVENTIDE, the silica sands glistening silver beneath King Finnbheara’s boots as he paced, impatiently awaiting the court fool’s return.
The Queen and her favorite courtiers were merrily celebrating the Beltane in a remote Highland village. Watching his elfin Aoibheal dance and flirt with the mortal Highlanders had goaded his slumbering jealousy into wakeful wrath. He’d fled the Beltane fires before he could succumb to his desire to annihilate the entire village. He was too angry with mortals to trust himself around them at the moment. The mere thought of his Queen with a mortal man filled him with fury.
As the fairy Queen had her favorites among their courtiers, so did the fairy King; the wily court fool was his longtime companion in cups and spades. He’d dispatched the fool to study the mortal Hawk, to gather information so he might concoct a fitting revenge for the man who’d dared trespass on fairy territory.
“His manhood at half-mast would make a stallion envious…. he claims a woman’s soul.” King Finnbheara mocked his Queen’s words in scathing falsetto, then spit irritably.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” the fool said flatly as he appeared in the shade of a rowan tree.
“Really?” King Finnbheara grimaced. He’d convinced himself Aoibheal had embellished a bit—after all, the man was mortal.
The fool scowled. “I spent three days in Edinburgh. The man’s a living legend. The women clamor over him. They speak his name as if it’s some mystic incantation guaranteed to bestow eternal ecstasy.”
“Did you see him? With your own eyes? Is he beautiful?” the King asked quickly.
The fool nodded and his mouth twisted bitterly. “He’s flawless. He’s taller than me—”
“You’re well over six feet in that glamour!” the King objected.
“He stands almost a hand taller. He has raven hair worn in a sleek tail; smoldering black eyes; the chiseled perfection of a young god and the body of Viking warrior. It’s revolting. May I maim him, my liege? Disfigure his perfect countenance?”
King Finnbheara pondered this information. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach at the thought of this dark mortal touching his Queen’s fair limbs, bringing her incomparable pleasure. Claiming her soul.
“I will kill him for you,” the fool offered hopefully.
King Finnbheara gestured impatiently. “Fool! And break the Compact between our races? No. There must be another way.”
The fool shrugged. “Perhaps we should sit back and do nothing. The Hawk is about to come to harm at his own race’s hand.”
“Tell me more,” Finnbheara ordered, his interest piqued.
“I discovered that the Hawk is to be wed in a few days. He is affianced by his mortal king’s decree. Destruction is about to befall him. You see, my liege, King James has ordered the Hawk to wed a woman named Janet Comyn. The king has made it clear that if the Hawk doesn’t wed this woman, he will destroy both the Douglas and Comyn clans.”
“So? What’s your point?” Finnbheara asked impatiently.
“Janet Comyn is dead. She died today.”
Finnbheara tensed instantly. “Did you harm her, fool?”
“No, my liege!” The fool gave him a wounded look. “She died by her father’s hand. I no more put the idea in his head than a key to her tower in his sporran.”
“Does that mean you did or you didn’t put the idea in his head?” the King asked suspiciously.
“Come now, my liege,” the fool pouted, “think you I would resort to such trickery and jeopardize us all?”
Finnbheara templed his fingers and studied the fool. Unpredictable, cunning, and careless, the jester had not yet been foolish enough to risk their race. “Go on.”
The fool cocked his head and his smile gleamed in the half-light. “It’s simple. The wedding can’t take place now. King James is going to destroy the Douglas. Oh, the Comyn too,” he added irreverently.