Laughing, Kaedric’s fingers tugged at the ties to her undergarment. “Your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow night. The following morning, we shall be husband and wife. It is my right to sample what is now rightfully mine.”

  “Let go of me!”

  “I shall have much enjoyment taming you.” He chuckled evilly.

  “Let go of her or I shall enjoy choking the life from your body,” Shandon said from the shadows. “My cousin is not yet your wife.”

  Kaedric stiffened, his body rigid against her. Slowly, he released her and stepped aside.

  “Your father waits at the gate with the horses,” Shandon continued stepping out from the darkness shrouding a nearby apple tree. “I suggest you get on your horse and ride back to the village before I decide to hurl you there.”

  “Surely, you do not want to make an enemy out of your future kin?” Kaedric asked as he smoothed his tunic and backed away.

  “Makes no difference to me.” Shandon advanced toward Honey sliding a protective arm around her shoulder. “I think this marriage is a farce and I shall do what is needed to stop it. My only concern is Honey’s happiness, and you do not make her happy.”

  Kaedric grinned, but to Honey, the expression looked more like a sneer. He turned and walked down a path. “You are making a grave mistake, Shandon. I promise you that,” he called over his shoulder.

  The sound of the horses galloping through the gate finally reached them. The tension and anger drained from Honey’s body. She looked up at her cousin’s stormy face.

  “You can do nothing to help me now,” she said, despair and disgust mixing so that tears threatened to consume her. “Mother has accepted Jorgus’ coin.”

  “Trust me,” Shandon replied, enveloping her in a hug. She heard her cousin’s heart pounding through his tunic as if a great steed were stomping behind his ribs. “I will figure out something.”

  “Time is of the essence.”

  “I know, Li’l One. I know.”

  Chapter Three

  Before the household retired for the night, Amberon gathered Honey and her sisters in the sitting room. Shandon brought a skin of wine and another of ale in from the larder. Bella accepted her cup from Shandon, but as she turned and took a step across the room, she tripped on the edge of a rug and spilled the moonbeam wine on it.

  “Bella, you clumsy girl!” Amberon scolded.

  Quickly, Honey found two cleaning rags and knelt by her next-older sister. Together, they sopped up the mess. Satisfied with their work, her mother commanded the family to sit around the hearth. A roaring fire provided most of the room’s lighting and chased away the dampness from the encroaching dark forest.

  Sitting between Shandon and their eldest sister, Zoirah, Honey let her gaze wander around the main room of their cottage. She loved this time of day. It was their family ritual to gather around their mother and listen to her read aloud, and after such a grueling evening under Kaedric’s scrutiny and roaming hands, Honey needed the time to relax. Behind her mother, a shelf held a dozen or so leather-bound books. Most were special gifts or volumes passed down from relatives. Only the wealthy or those who held a steady task that paid well could afford the luxury of establishing a library. She wondered if Kaedric’s family possessed a large library that she would enjoy. She wrinkled her nose and sipped from her cup. It would take more than a grand collection of books to force her to marry the Beautiful Boring Oaf.

  A fire crackled in the hearth. Shadows leapt upon the stones, and a water kettle suspended over the licking flames puffed steam out of its spout. Across the room, Callan pushed aside a small basket full of flowers to make room on a low table. She set her wooden cup of wine down on the table’s edge. Ishen, a middle sister, entered the room and fetched a book from off the mantle, handing the volume to their mother, and then seated herself at Callan’s feet.

  Once everyone was settled with a cup of ale or wine, Amberon opened the book.

  “Honestly, Mother,” the next-to-the-oldest, Penelope, said as she eyed the big book. “I do not understand why you persist in borrowing from that woman.”

  “Every villager knows that Widow Keera possesses an extensive library,” Amberon replied calmly.

  “But if you keep going there, someone might get the wrong impression. Especially since you are a widow too,” Bella added.

  One of the sisters gasped at her bold remark. Their mother fixed Bella with an icy stare.

  “Being a widow does not mean a woman must sell her body to survive. Nor does it mean that I’ll become a whore. The fact that the only library within several villages is in a brothel is not lost upon me!” Taking a deep breath, her mother flipped the book open at its marker. “Besides, do we not worship the goddess of coupling, fertility and love? I doubt Raya frowns much upon the women in the brothel.”

  “Well said!” Shandon exclaimed as he rose to refill everyone’s cups.

  “Besides,” Honey added, “we all enjoy the stories that Widow Keera provides.”

  Amberon smiled at her youngest, a warm light in her earthy eyes.

  “I have an idea,” Callan said. “Since tomorrow eve is Honey’s eighteenth birthday, why don’t you tell us the legend of our heritage.”

  Sighing, their mother closed the book and let it rest in the folds of her heavy dress. “Does everyone not grow weary of me telling this same tale?”

  “No.” Ishen laughed.

  Shaking her fair head, Amberon’s exasperation melted. With an indulgent smile, she began the tale. “When our ancestors originally settled in the heart of the magical wood, they soon discovered that there were other folk in their midst. Over time, they named them and now we know the Elves, Dwarves, and other Fae by various names, but there was one race of Faerie that frightened our ancestors just as much but in a different manner. They were the ones who camouflaged themselves as the flora and fauna.”

  As always, Honey imagined how their ancestors must have felt to encounter such a strange race of people living right under their very noses. Her mother’s tale transported her back to that time, and before she knew it, Honey forgot about her cup of moonbeam wine, the loud, whip-like cracks of the burning logs—and the disturbing thoughts of becoming Kaedric’s wife.

  “The Green People began stealing mortal women and coupling with them so they would bear more of their race,” Amberon said, spinning the legend so that everyone sat enthralled. “The menfolk tried to fight back, but they couldn’t battle the odd, magical people, so they moved their settlement outside the ancient forest.”

  “I never understood why our ancestors did not invite the Green People to live with them,” Honey interrupted.

  The older sisters tittered at Honey’s statement.

  “Quiet, Li’l One. Your impatience ruins a grand tale,” Zoirah chastised.

  Heat rushed into Honey’s face. She stared down at her cup, but smiled when Shandon patted her shoulder, his touch comforting. Slowly, she raised her eyes and looked at her mother.

  Amberon offered her a patient look. “Those stolen women gave birth to half Fae children, altering our bloodlines. Our ancestors are direct descendants of the Faerie, the same treacherous, lovely folk we buy our horses from.”

  “So?” Honey asked, making everyone chuckle at her naivety.

  “So, Li’l One,” Shandon answered, “the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter has a bit of Faerie magic within herself. People fear what they do not understand. Although our ancestors knew there was magic in their blood, they shunned it, pretending the Green People did not exist.” He shrugged, his serious gaze sweeping the room. “Our ancestors turned their backs on their heritage.”

  “Hush, Shandon!” Amberon snapped, her dark eyes flashing. “Do you want me to tell the legend, or are you going to finish it?”

  When everyone grew silent, she nodded in satisfaction, but Honey saw a dark expression cross her cousin’s face. He caught her watching him and flashed a bright smile, the resentful look gone like a passing storm cloud.

  Amberon continued her tale. “It is believed that the natural body essence of special daughters stems from the blood of the Green People. Some daughters smell like lilacs, some like lavender. Therefore, it attracts the last of their race, the Green Man, who hopes to replenish his kind. It is also said that he has a special taste for honeysuckle.”

  Shandon leered at Honey, playfully jostling her shoulder and making her dribble wine on her dress. Her skin flushed hot, and she made a show of shaking the deep purple drops from her skirts. As third cousins, it was permitted for them to marry. The fact that she found herself attracted to Shandon’s handsome looks and stunning wit aside, she had known him since she was a wee child. She sneaked a glance at him. But there was still something about Shandon that drew her, spoke to her. The feelings bothered Honey to a point, but at the same time, she soaked up every moment she could with her cousin.

  “Doesn’t the Green Man love wild roses too?” Honey asked, blushing as Shandon gently brushed a couple of stray wine drops from the lap of her dress.

  The book clunked to the floor, and her mother’s voice cracked. “What did you say?”

  The tone of her mother’s voice drew her gaze from Shandon’s soft touch to her mother’s stunned expression. Honey gulped and said, “You once told me the Green Man has a passion for wild roses.”

  “I don’t recall ever telling you such a thing.” Her mother’s voice quavered slightly. Her fingers played nervously with the silky tuft of hair at the end of her heavy blonde braid.

  “Everyone was in bed,” Honey said. “I was cold, so I came downstairs to sit by the fire. You had been sipping heavily on moonbeam wine that eve, and you told me a story that I have never forgotten. This was a few weeks after you found out he’d lost his parents to a strange fever and you took him in. You told me a tale about how you took Shandon with you to the forest to dig tubers, and the Green Man stole him away. You said that only after making seven wreaths of wild roses for him did he return Shandon to us. Somehow, whether through some faint magic in your blood or by the power of Raya, your touch kept them alive for the Green Man during the cold months. Honey studied her mother, whose gaze grew distant. “For weeks afterward, I was frightened that the Green Man would carry me away too.”

  “Raya, bless me. I truly have no recollection of telling you that.” A weary sigh slipped from Amberon.

  “Is the Green Man really the last of his race?” Bella asked. She covered a yawn with her hand. “Are the Fae immortal?”

  “No, they don’t live forever,” Zoirah replied as she straightened her skirts. “But I don’t think the Green People ever existed. I believe the legend was created to keep people from going too deeply into the Great Woods.”

  Callan said, “If the Green People are real—”

  “They must be real,” Honey interrupted. “We know there are Faeries—we trade and barter with some of them—so why couldn’t there be Green People too?”

  “Shush!” Callan said, glancing over at Honey, her brow wrinkling in irritation at the interruption. “If the Green People do exist, how do we protect ourselves from being carried away? Especially,” she cast yet another look toward Honey, “a special daughter.”

  Laughing, Shandon said, “My dear aunt insists Honey’s namesake will protect her from the Green Man.”

  “How?” Honey asked.

  “On each stroke of midnight, the hour of your birth, she must hang honeysuckle on the doors and windows of the house. The twelfth one is a chaplet for you to wear on your head.” He shot an amused look toward her mother.

  The sisters uttered gasps of dismay at Shandon’s bold, ridiculing tone.

  Amberon thumped the book down on the side table by her chair, and the room instantly grew still. “How dare you poke fun at this? Your grandmother handed that ritual down to me.”

  “We shouldn’t make fun of Mother’s beliefs and superstitions. She honors our goddess. Is it not Raya who favors the Fae folk above all others?” Honey gently reprimanded her cousin.

  “‘Tis true, but I’m not making fun of your mother. I merely feel sympathy for her being duped so easily.”

  Amberon stared at Shandon, her cheeks pink, dark eyes bright with anger. She rose from her chair, looking like a Fae queen with her heavy yellow braid hanging down the front of her dress, her pale, flawless skin golden in the firelight.

  Coolly, she said, “May Raya forgive your callous tongue. Perhaps I should have let the Green Man keep your worthless hide—or worse, and let you rot in an orphanage.” She turned, ascending the stairs to the upper chambers, and called out, “Good night, daughters.”

  ***

  His hot tongue darted into her mouth. She sighed in pleasure, her arms snaking around his neck. Honey eagerly arched against him, frustrated with her dress, wanting to feel her naked skin pressed to his warm body, his cock, hard and hot, inside her.

  He released her lips, making eye contact with her, and she lost herself in his bright emerald gaze.

  “You belong to me,” he whispered, his voice strangely musical. “You know that, do you not?”

  Honey answered him by drawing his head down to her unfastened dress front, his scent of cloves and spices. He nuzzled her breasts, his rough tongue swirling over their erect peaks. She pulled at his tunic, her loins fiery with need as she arched against his hips, urging him to join their bodies and thrust deeply between her legs. Her lover uttered a growl of desire and seized the delicate tip of one nipple. Whimpering in pleasure, Honey relaxed, allowing him to kiss and suckle her breasts. Slowly, maddeningly, he trailed kisses down to the planes of her stomach, his tongue investigating every inch of her skin. He slid one hand beneath her skirts, fingers questing through her undergarment until he discovered her wet and swollen. He stroked the folds between her legs, sending tingles of desire and pure sexual energy flying through her like tiny lightning bolts. Honey felt juices slipping from her body and sensed an incredible power building inside her with each tantalizing caress.

  She moaned and pulled at his shoulders, needing to feel his weight pressing down upon her, wanting him to pierce her body, but instead of giving her what she craved, her lover pushed two fingers into her soft, satiny recesses. Honey cried out, delirious from the sensations coursing through her. Why would he not make love to her? She needed him to show her what it felt like to be one, to revel in the physical sensations she often heard about but had never experienced.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Take me. Make me yours.”

  His dazzling green gaze met hers, and he smiled. “I’ve already told you that you are mine. No one shall have you but me—no one!”

  He swirled his fingers inside her, and Honey rolled her eyes back as she gasped, straining against his hand. The fire building in her loins both thrilled and frightened her. How much more would it increase before she could not stand it any longer?

  “Please!” she said. “I want you.”

  “Be patient. I shall take you away with me very soon.” He moved his fingers in and out, and just when the hunger within her womanhood grew to blazing proportions, he kissed her and faded into a swirling mist. “I will take you to the heavens each night we are together.”

  Honey sat up in bed with a start. Embarrassed and panting, her pussy aching with a need she could not label, she realized her undergarments moist. What was wrong with her?

  “Honey?” a voice whispered from the doorway.

  The curtain over the bedchamber door swung back. Shandon stepped just inside the threshold.

  “Shandon?” She frowned, yanking the bed covers up over her sweating body, heat flaring into her face. “What are you doing awake? It is very late.”

  He walked into the half-light spilling through the single window. Callan muttered and rolled over, snoring softly.

  “I heard you fussing in your sleep again.”

  “I am fine.”

  “Well, if you are sure.” He stretched and yawned. “I am going back to bed.”

  “I am—I am fine.”

  He nodded. “G’night, Li’l One.”

  Honey’s face flamed hotter, making her grateful for the darkness. She thought about her dream lover and wondered who he was, if he even existed at all. She lay back against her pillow, her body still thrumming with need. Inhaling deeply, she thought she smelled spices and sunbaked leaves upon her nightgown.

  With a heavy sigh, Honey turned toward the window. She noted the brightening of the deep gray sky as Raya’s blue-black cats approached pulling her chariot of perpetual sunlight. She felt the goddess’ power more strongly during the time of unceasing daylight, but she didn’t understand the sexual dreams that had been plaguing her the past few months. Dreams that had grown in intensity and frequency of late.

  Who was this strange, intoxicating lover who ruled her body, her mind, and her heart?

  Chapter Four

  The Great Woods looked somber, foreboding. Something within the ancient forest whispered an invitation to her. The trees, incredibly old and vast, and many as big around as a house, stood like elderly giants looking down on the villagers. Their grand size had forced the men from the surrounding villages to hew passageways through them. Gathered around evening fires, villagers told tales of their ancestors living beneath the great canopy and mingling with its magic. Looking upon the monstrous fortress, Honey nodded. Yes, there certainly was magic inside that dark, esoteric place.

  As Honey stood in her mother’s flower garden assessing the towering forest next to her home, she pondered the fact she was about to turn eighteen seasons. She heard her mother inside giving the eldest sisters directions on where to tack up the cloth lanterns and homemade streamers for her birthday. Honey wondered if it saddened her mother that her youngest child was now a woman, one who would be unhappily wed upon the next morn.

  “Thinking a woman’s thoughts?” a deep-timbred voice teased.

  Turning, Honey smiled at her cousin. She caught Callan favoring them with dark looks as she watered the flowers by the front door. Honey sighed, hoping her sister would keep her barbed words to herself. The following morning’s wedding was enough for her to worry about without adding sibling rivalry to it.

 

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