Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

“Yes.” Sid started forward.

Kallah put a hand on her arm to stop her. “And Sid—don’t breathe a word to anyone about anything you might see or hear.” Kallah looked hard into her gaze, mouth set. “Not a word. You’ve experienced what can happen when her majesty takes offense, but you’ve not witnessed anything like what could happen if she considers herself betrayed.”

Sid’s heart leaped at the possibility of overhearing something they might be able to use. Dropping her gaze to hide her reaction, she muttered, “I understand.”

“Good.”

As soon as Kallah released her, she started forward. Around the outcropping of rosebushes, there was a small, private grassy area with a stool. Beyond that, there were more rosebushes. Through the bushes, she could see the outline of a low divan with pillows strewn over it.

It looked like the perfect spot for a private assignation, and for a moment, instinctively, she strained to make sense of what she was seeing on the other side of the rosebushes. Then the movement became clear, and she realized that was exactly what she was seeing. Two bodies lay entwined on the divan. Isabeau and a man. Loops of gold and white pearls threaded Isabeau’s hair. It was the only thing she was wearing.

Fierce heat washed over Sid’s face. Turning her back to the scene, she sat on the stool and began to play, striving hard to ignore the sounds behind her.

But try as she might, she couldn’t miss some details. The man wasn’t Modred; she was sure of that. He might be the male in the private sitting room from the night before, the one who had slipped a ring into her performance hat.

And Isabeau made love with the abandonment and lack of shame of a cat, crying out, sometimes swearing. Once her lover swore too, with such vicious surprise, Sid had to bite both lips to keep an unexpected bubble of laughter from popping out. She was pretty sure laughing at the Queen’s sex life was not a good career move.

Somehow she held it together until Kallah came across the garden and motioned to her, and her time was up for the day.

Escaping the confines of the castle felt as freeing as it had the first time. Instead of heading back to her room right away, she wandered down the street until she found the market.

There she bought a large canvas bag to carry her purchases in, and she spent a couple of hours picking out enough outfits so she would always have something clean to wear when she left her room, making sure to buy plainer clothes that were either black or some other dark color.

She also bought a smaller leather purse to carry essentials in, some toiletries, a comb, more scented soaps and a small vial of rose water, along with a pen, an inkwell, and ten sheets of parchment paper. Her final purchase was food and wine for that evening.

The sense of freedom she felt was so intoxicating she dawdled on the way back to the inn, enjoying the sights of the harbor and sea. Optimism came on the heels of her improved condition. They were going to find a way to break Morgan free of Isabeau’s control. She was certain of it.

Back in her room, she opened the balcony doors to the fresh breeze and took her pen, ink, and paper to the table outside to craft a letter to Vincent and Julie. It was harder to do than she had expected, and Robin had warned her the message needed to be a small one. After considering and discarding several ideas, she kept the note very short and wrote it as small as she could.

Don’t give up hope. I’m alive and okay.

I’ve been kidnapped. I’m no longer on Earth, but I’m working to find a way to get back home.

Be careful what you do. My captors could retaliate at what they see as aggression. I’ll be in touch again as soon as I can.

Love, Sid

After reading and rereading the note, she sighed and folded it as small as she could get it. The note covered all the relevant points and would have to do. When Robin came, she gave it to him.

He didn’t linger. They had said everything of importance earlier. Instead, he tucked the note into his pocket, shapeshifted, and the cat slipped away.

Morgan had said it would be four days, or maybe five, for the caravan to return. She realized she’d forgotten to ask Robin to bring back news. Oh well, there was nothing she could do to rectify that now.

For the first time in weeks, she had the rest of the day to herself. She was relatively safe for the moment, the sun shining, and the water in the distance sparkled a gorgeous aquamarine blue. For a while, she sat on the balcony, basking in the sun and letting the warmth heal the cold shadows of injury that lingered deep in the corners of her mind, then she moved into the room to nap the rest of the day away, until the sun set and Morgan came.


That set the pattern of the next several days.

Sid returned to the castle to play when the Queen commanded. Aside from that, she spent her days sleeping, sunbathing on the balcony, and taking forays out of town to jog her three miles a day.

The good food, fresh air, and exercise brought back a sense of robustness she hadn’t realized she had lost. They were good days, certainly good enough for someone who had lost control over her own destiny, and far better than she had once feared she would ever see again.

But they weren’t what brought her fully alive.

The nights were.

She was just biding her time, waiting with barely controlled patience for the moment when Morgan pushed through the sheer curtains. When he appeared, she ignited, a candle bursting into flame, and they collided together with such intensity she wondered that the whole of Avalon didn’t feel it.

She lived for those nights, for the touch of his body against hers. For the times he took her and took her, driving her out of her mind with burning pleasure.

The peaks with him were so high at times they frightened her. She felt sometimes as if she were clawing her way directly into the sun. They worked each other to exhaustion, then dozed long enough to rally again, and each night Morgan lingered until the dawn broke over the rooftops. Then he left her, reluctantly, with lingering kisses.

They talked too, desultorily, about their days. She related all the small details of her hours playing with the Queen, the times Isabeau spent by herself reading, or the afternoons she shared with her court ladies. Sid always took note of the knife Isabeau wore on the gold chain at her hips. The only time it had been absent, at least that Sid saw, had been when Isabeau had made love in the garden with the unknown Light Fae male.