White Fells by R Garland Gray

Author:R Garland Gray
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Medallion Media Group
Published: 2007-08-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

SCOTA THOUGHT THE SKY TO be the prettiest blue she had ever seen in her entire life. They stood in the warm golden light of the summer sun, an easterly breeze lifting strands of their hair. “The fragrance of the land smells sweet to me,” she murmured.

“Aye,” he agreed heartily.

Scota glanced over her shoulder. A grouping of five horn-shaped boulders stood in a wild meadow. In the magical ways of the fey, gray-green vines crept back over the largest boulder, covering the secret of the embedded half-moon rock crystal.

She returned her focus forward and breathed deeply of the outside, the panic inside her dwindling. Ribbons of running water crossed an embankment of green pastures disappearing into purple hedgerows as far as the eye could see. In the glow of late afternoon, horses grazed with ease, noble heads bowed and tails swishing.

“I doona know this hilltop village,” her mate remarked quietly to himself.

“Is it safe?” she asked, studying the small herd of white goats near a crumbling stone wall.

He shrugged.

Flowers named Meadowsweet sprang on reddish purple stems along the edges of the tiny streams, and she could see a wavering line of tall trees in the far distance.

“It is beautiful here,” she remarked and felt the return of her composure and … the humiliation and shame of her dread.

She glanced at him, speculating on what he thought of his warrior woman now. He had seen a weak and panic-driven part of her no other ever had, or ever would.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, simply.

“Yes,” she answered and thought to explain her earlier behavior. “Boyden, I …”

He held up a hand. “Small places make me uncomfortable.” He gave her a grin. “I tend to bump into things.”

And that was the end of it.

I love you, Boyden, whispered inside her. I love you. She tucked stray strands of hair behind her ears. She thought perhaps she should tell him about his unborn babe, then quickly decided against it. Instinct told her to wait. It was not yet the right time to mention his babe or the sharing of her body with a primordial being who lusted after him.

He stood to her right, sniffing the air, hands easily gripping the leather straps anchoring the scabbard at his back. He was untamable, her very own tawny-maned stallion scanning his surroundings.

“What do you smell?” she asked.

“Not scent, but presence,” he murmured. “I feel the Gaot—” He rolled his shoulders, catching himself.

“The Faery Wind?” she finished for him.

He glanced at her sharply.

“I know the Gaoth Shee, Boyden,” she answered honestly. I know the magical from the wind guardians flows in your blood. I know you are a descendent of long-ago Wind Kings, she thought but did not say. They were two lineages, both demanding, both pulling him apart.

“What do you know?” he countered, and Scota felt a living hatred emanating out of him. “Tell me what you know, Scota.”

She answered carefully. “My people heard tales of a lethal enchanted wind coming down from the mountains to kill.

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