Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

“I’m half Vietnamese,” she muttered, repelled by the very concept. “So I must really get up her nose.”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “She has no idea what a Vietnamese is. You offend her because you’re a dark-haired human, and she believes the Light Fae are the superior race. And while she must hate to admit it since you’re clearly of an inferior race and your looks are so different from those of the Light Fae, you’re also breathtakingly beautiful, and she’s always jealous of other beauties.”

Well.

Well now, wasn’t that something.

He thought she was breathtakingly beautiful, did he?

Sid felt her cheeks warm with pleasure and was glad for the darkness that hid her blush.

Before she could figure out how to respond, he continued, “She—we—drove Oberon’s people out of Great Britain and imprisoned them in their own lands, or so we thought. There were only a few knights of the Dark Court left in England, until they found some way to reopen one of the passageways to reach their demesne and bring back reinforcements. All summer they’ve been strengthening and reinforcing their presence along the Welsh Marches in England. It’s been a huge setback for Isabeau, and her moods have become more dangerous and volatile than ever.”

As he talked, he wound a strand of her hair around his finger. The sensation from the small gesture rippled gently through her body. Surreptitiously she rubbed her cheek against the softness of his shirt, enjoying the feel of the thick, broad muscle underneath.

She was… she was…

She must be really messed up, because she was attracted to him.

She didn’t even know what his voice sounded like, not really. The only clue she could gather was that the low, rich timbre in his whisper indicated it would be deep.

And his scent was… odd. Slightly chemical, but that might be from medicine used to treat whatever injury the bandages were needed for. Come to think of it, the only thing she could really smell was a touch of fresh air on his shirt, as if it had been hung out to dry in the sunshine, along with the lingering aroma from the meat pies they had just eaten.

What if she asked to run her fingers over his face, so she could get an idea of what he looked like? She almost asked, until she realized that knowing some details might give her clues to his identity, and she knew instinctively he would reject that possibility.

Besides, none of that was going to get her out of this cell.

Yanking her unruly thoughts back into line, she asked, “How does Modred fit into all this?”

His chest moved in a silent snort. “Modred is just like Isabeau, a complete opportunist focused on his own gain. They are in a relationship, of sorts. If you can call it relating. They’re not faithful, but they pretend to be, and they often partner in mischief together.”

“Modred is the one who found me shackled in the stable,” she whispered, clenching her hand in his shirt at the memory. “I’d been chained with the rest of the trolls’ tribute, and then they forgot about me until the next day. When he took me to the castle, I thought at first he was going to help me—feed me something, let me wash up, or take me to someone who would listen to my story so I could make a case for going home.”

“It was a perfectly reasonable expectation.” His voice was clipped, angry. “It’s also what any decent man would have done.”

She broke into a light sweat as she thought about it, and a tremor ran through her muscles. “Instead, he took me straight to Isabeau. I didn’t know who she was at first, although the richness of her dress and her surroundings should have given me a clue. Looking back, there were all kinds of warning signs, but I didn’t pay attention to any of them. She’d even said she’d had a bad morning, and she had a headache… but then so had I. I was dizzy with hunger, scared, and exhausted, and I’d been in a state of perpetual outrage for days. She called me ugly and bad mannered, and she fingered my hair like I was a dog or a horse. After having been kidnapped, spending several days on the road, and being treated like chattel, I lost my temper. And you know the rest.”

His arm tightened around her. Cupping the nape of her neck, he pressed his lips to her forehead and held the position for a long moment before he relaxed. When he spoke, his murmur sounded pragmatic. “Modred did that on purpose.”

She lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

“There were even more clues in what you told me, if you knew how to look for them. You said yourself that you were exhausted, hungry, and it sounds like you were at the end of your rope.”

She sighed. “I was dirty too, and I smelled like a barnyard.”

“What he did was wildly inappropriate,” he told her. “One should never go into an audience with the Queen like that, unless there’s some overriding reason or dire emergency. Recently I had to meet with her in just such a state, and she was quite displeased… until I reminded her I was there because of her orders, and she had left me no other choice. You said she was having a bad morning and had a headache?”

“Yes.”

“Modred watches her moods with the same kind of intensity that a fisherman watches the sea. He would have known she was having a bad morning. When he took you to her, there was no way he could lose. Isabeau loves music, so if, despite everything, she took to you, he gained credit for pleasing her out of her bad mood. If things didn’t go well, then he had given her someone to take her ill temper out on. It never matters to him who becomes the brunt of Isabeau’s temper as long as it isn’t him.”

“Which was exactly what happened.” Her hands curled into fists. She would give a lot for the opportunity to plant a first in Modred’s handsome, smiling face.

“Yes. Isabeau might be manipulative, but she’s also prey to manipulation, if you know how to handle her, and Modred has been handling her for a very long time.” He shifted position and eased away from her. “I should leave.”

She scowled. They had taken their time eating, but surely they hadn’t talked the night away. And anyway, how could he tell what time it was down here? “If you must.”

“I don’t want to, but there’s something I need to do while it’s still dark,” he whispered. When he stood, she did as well. “Here, drink as much as you can before I go.”

Reluctantly, she accepted the flask and drank until she thought she would burst. When she handed it back to him, he tucked it into the canvas bag.

Following him to the cell door, she touched his shoulder. When he turned, she walked forward deliberately to hug him again.

As his arms came around her, she said haltingly, “Don’t scold me for saying this, but thank you again for everything. And be careful, will you? I can tell you have a bandage around your ribs, and I worry about you when you leave.”

His arms tightened. “There’s nothing wrong with my ribs that won’t heal. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back again this evening.”

With any luck, this evening she wouldn’t be here to greet him, but she didn’t tell him that.