THE FEY EARL

Ada

Warmth flooded my cheeks. Maintaining my composure required all my concentration. I was relieved that we would not walk in silence, but my thoughts were so disordered, I hardly knew what answer to make.

Start by answering the question. The rest must wait.

“I am, my lord,” I replied.

“I’m relieved to hear it. You must be hungry. The Doyles will give us breakfast.” His tone was solicitous and generous, which was indeed no different from usual. But we were not as usual, and I was not sure how to interpret this. I considered whether he would try to insert some distance between us. It was possible he had forgotten the events of the evening before, but he at least must know that we had spent an entire night alone inside the fairy mound.

We walked a while in silence. I had the sense that he waited for me to speak—indeed, the entire business should have had both of us talking—but I was exceedingly uncomfortable and uncertain and could not bring myself to it.

“Miss Q.” He stopped in the middle of the muddy track and turned to look at me, features drawn with worry. My heart thumped in anticipation. “I believe that I fell asleep last night and that I walked in my sleep. I have no memory of it, but it’s not unusual for me to wake in … in such a state on those nights when I lose myself. I am alarmed that we seem to have passed the whole night in the fairy mound. And I am racked with fear that I have said or done something to frighten or offend you. If I have, you must tell me.”

What was I to do now? As his friend, I owed him the truth. But to explain such a thing … I knew that I could not.

The lie that must be told would far exceed any small deception I had perpetrated thus far in my career. But having determined I was unequal to revealing the truth, I had no other course.

“You did walk in your sleep, sir,” I began slowly, “but please rest easy. I was distracted by my work when you emerged from the other chamber. You exited from the mound, and it was dark by then and I dare not follow. I thought it best to await your return rather than walk out into the night unescorted, unsure of my destination. I waited some time, and then I, too, must have fallen asleep.”

The release of tension in his body drained some of the charge from the air around us, but I had not yet escaped.

“I want more than anything to believe that was the extent of it,” he said, “horrified as I am that you were forced to sleep so uncomfortably. But I sense that you are concealing something, perhaps to protect me. I insist on being held accountable.”

“For things that happened involuntarily?” I protested. “Why, sir?”

The expression of dread descended again. “You’re a poor liar, Miss Q.”

My heart galloped as I rallied my faculties. Stall. “I shall take that as a compliment, sir,” I replied with a halfhearted smile.

“I meant it as such. But please proceed to the truth.”

I felt pinioned by his gaze. Worse than that, something of the look of the Danaan warrior returned to his eyes and brow.

“I have told you nearly all,” I continued. There I paused to see whether he would lead me.

“I accosted you in some way.”

“You … frightened me with your intensity.” As I spoke these honest words, I met his gaze.

He closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists. “And did I harm you?”

Relieved that he had not chosen wording that would require me to lie outright, I replied, “You did not, sir. I am well, as you see.”

“Miss Quicksilver,” he began, opening his eyes, “I must earnestly beg your pardon. I neglected my sleeping draught last night. I hadn’t expected to doze off. I hope you will believe that my actions were outside my control.”

“I do, sir. Of course I do.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“With all my heart.”

“Come,” he said, turning again into the path. “We must talk of this further, but first a fire and a hot meal.”

He looked more troubled than ever, and I knew that if I wished to maintain our association, I could never tell him the whole truth. Yet how could I, in good conscience, conceal such a thing?

Moreover, was maintaining our association even advisable? Had I not better tell him the truth and flee back to the safety of the Lovelace Academy, where my greatest worries had to do with professors and exams? Never had it entered my thoughts back in London that a research trip could be so fraught with peril. And yet, had I not found exactly what I’d come looking for? More, in fact, than I had dared hope for?

We had almost crossed the field and were now approaching a modest cottage. Lord Meath led me through a gate, pausing a moment to rest the sword against the low stone fence, and a man came out of the cottage and strode out to meet us.

The earl introduced me to Mr. Doyle and apologized for our tardy arrival. The farmer’s confusion upon being told that we’d spent the night in the ruin was plain. Doyle told the earl that he had assumed we were delayed in town or on the road and had not thought to come looking for us. He was launching into a verbose apology, but the earl cut him short, explaining that we were sorely in need of a hot meal, if it was not too much trouble for his wife. Doyle ushered us inside and directly to the kitchen, inviting us to seat ourselves at the end of the table near the fire. He explained what was wanted to his wife, who also welcomed us and expressed concern over our ordeal.

We warmed ourselves by the fire while she busied herself at the stove. No questions were put forward about our night in the ruin, though this was not surprising—a tenant would not think it his place. Mr. Doyle fussed with the turf fire until it was blazing, and then fell into idle chatter about the weather. I assumed that all the awkwardness had to do with our absence the evening before—and perhaps the farmer’s speculation about the earl and me—until I recalled that it was Mr. Doyle’s sale of beads found inside the ruin that had drawn attention to the place. This could easily have proved a consequential lapse in judgment had the man possessed a less compassionate landlord.

A quarter hour later, a feast was laid before us—steaming bowls of porridge and a pitcher of fresh milk, eggs fried with mushrooms and onions, bread hot from the oven, with a cake of rich yellow butter, and a pot of strong tea. When Mrs. Doyle had poured our tea, she excused herself to check on her children, who were about their morning chores.

My wondering whether the earl would think it advisable to tell his tenant of the púca came to an end when Lord Meath finally spoke. “Mr. Doyle, I don’t wish to alarm you, but I feel that I would be remiss in keeping from you the fact that we encountered a threatening creature inside the ruin.”

The farmer turned from the fire, regarding Lord Meath with wide eyes. “Is that so, my lord?”

“It had the appearance of a púca, though I know that must sound very strange.”

“A púca!” Doyle regarded him with surprise and what I took for alarm rather than disbelief.

“I know of no better way to describe it,” replied the earl, “and I’m at a loss to account for it.”

Doyle shook his head. “Sorry I am that ever I poked my nose where I hadn’t ought to, my lord.”

“I suspect it was less connected with your laborers’ foray into the chamber than with the reconstruction of the entrance, but I’m far from an expert in such matters.” Lord Meath’s gaze came to rest on me.

I swallowed the bite of egg I had just taken. “I would agree with you, my lord. It feels significant that the first rays of dawn traveled down the passage and pierced the central chamber. It’s likely the structure was erected for just that purpose. I wonder whether it might even be some kind of gateway.” As I warmed to this topic and as the excellent breakfast underwent the chemical transformation necessary to revive my energy, some of the early morning’s sense of dread began to dissipate.

I wondered, could this be the gateway? If we had left it open, what else might have come through. And was it truly closed?

“Have you noticed anything unusual since the inside of the ruin was first examined, sir?” I asked Mr. Doyle, endeavoring, by my careful wording, to spare him further remorse. “Any sightings that could not be explained without reference to old stories?”

“No, miss,” he replied. “But Mrs. Doyle has made me feel how wrong I was to trespass on the gentlefolk, and I’d take it back if I could.”

By this answer, I could see that the farmer’s main concern was to ease his guilty conscience by confession to his lord—perhaps even to the gentlefolk themselves, who were known to be easily offended—and I did not pursue further questioning. But I confess I was looking forward to the loss of his company so I might discuss the matter more fully with Lord Meath.

“The site is important, Mr. Doyle,” replied the earl in a somber tone. “I don’t believe you are to blame for the púca’s attack, but I’m counting on you to aid the scientists and workmen in keeping the passage sealed until I can return from my consultation with the queen.”

“Rely on it, Your Lordship,” Mr. Doyle readily assented, clearly relieved for this opportunity to reaffirm his worthiness as a tenant.

“Keep your own family away as well, for their safety.”

“I shall, Your Lordship.”

“As soon as we reach the train station, I’ll telegraph Her Majesty and request a company of soldiers to relieve the excavation crew.”

Before Mr. Doyle could reply to this, we heard a sharp rap on the front door of the cottage. The earl walked out with our host to answer it, and they passed Mrs. Doyle as she returned to the kitchen. I overheard enough of the men’s conversation to understand that conveyance of some sort had been procured for us, and I was rising to join them when Mrs. Doyle pressed a basket into my hands.

“For your journey,” she explained, smiling kindly. She was a young woman still, not yet thirty, and had numerous ginger freckles and a head of curls to match.

“Thank you, Mrs. Doyle. And thank you for the excellent breakfast.”

As I took hold of the basket handle, she held fast a moment, pulling me closer.

“He’s a handsome lord, miss, but fey,” she whispered urgently. “Take warning. I fear you daren’t trust him.”

Anxiety brought a flash of heat to my chest. Though I knew how right she was, this reminder of my predicament freshened my sense of unease. I was spared the concealment that would have been required for me to reply to this kind warning, by the return of Mr. Doyle, who came to lead me to Lord Meath.

“Thank you for your generosity,” I repeated, hoping by my calm reply to ease her distress on my behalf, even if I could not do the same for myself.

She pressed her lips together and made a small curtsy. Then, cutting her gaze at her husband, she seemed to contemplate a moment before adding, “You bear the mark of attention from their kind. You must take especial care.” She eyed my silver hair, which I hadn’t bothered to conceal under my hood, and curtsied again. “Safe travels, miss.”

I thought about my grandmother’s story of the fairy kiss as I followed Mr. Doyle out again to the farmyard. I thought again about the earl’s words in the ruin: And thee, my own love, whom I both know and know not.

Lord Meath waited for us near a small open carriage. “This is all that was available on short notice,” the earl explained as I joined him. “Fortunately, the weather is fine for a late-December morning.”

This was true enough. The air had a bite, but the sunshine was its balm.

“Will you be comfortable enough?” the earl asked.

“I’m sure that I will, my lord.”

I gave him Mrs. Doyle’s basket, and he placed it on the seat beside the driver before helping me in and climbing up to join me. We would be rather cozy on this ride, as there was only one passenger seat in the carriage and it was much smaller than the private coach.

“With any luck,” he said as we got under way, “we’ll make Mullingar in time for the Westport train.”

“If we don’t?” I asked.

“If we don’t, we must stay in Mullingar and resume the following morning.”

The open carriage was both a blessing and a curse. With the driver so close, the earl could not resume his questioning about the night we’d passed together. Neither could we continue our discourse on the púca and its significance. Instead, I studied the wintergreen-and-dun countryside, trying not to think about the warmth of his leg pressing against mine.

I found my mind returning to the night before. But now that I was tucked safely into the coach, beside a man I had come to respect and trust, these thoughts raised a warming curiosity. I knew what it felt like to be held in his arms. To be kissed by him. I trembled to think how different an experience it might have been, had he been himself. I wondered whether he could ever feel the same desire for me as the sleepwalker had.

That was no more than mistaken identity, I reminded myself. And as for the earl … well, he was an earl, while I was merely a Miss Q. And I had a decision to make.

Edward

You frightened me with your intensity.

It was what I had feared most in persuading her to join me on this journey—that she might come to harm in my care. And the almost certain knowledge that I had acted in an ungentlemanly manner toward her, whether or not it was within my control, sickened me.

Yet she insisted she was well. To all appearances, she was well. Her color was still high, but it gave her a healthful glow. She looked even more alive than she had this morning, when she had been flushed with excitement for the journey to come. And she had not fled from me in terror, as I imagine any other woman would have. Not yet, at any rate.

I thought I might be driven the rest of the way mad by not knowing the specifics of what I had said or done. I could not now reopen the topic, not with the driver so near. In truth, I didn’t know whether I could ever speak of it again. Would not forcing her to speak in more detail constitute a fresh offense? As I eyed her profile, I noticed a purplish mark on her neck—a fresh bruise. Had I caused that? Certainly, she would have fled by now had I laid hands on her. Perhaps she had been bruised sleeping on the stone.

Dear God. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, tormented by my lack of information.

Feeling a gentle weight on my shoulder, I opened my eyes. Despite the rough road and the uncomfortable carriage, the poor woman had fallen asleep, and her cheek now rested against me. I scarcely dared breathe for fear of disturbing her. If she woke, she would certainly move away.

I leaned toward her, lowering my shoulder so she might rest at a more comfortable angle. I resisted the urge to take hold of the hand that lay, palm up and fingers slightly curving, in her lap.

“Rest, my clever and kind Miss Q,” I murmured, “and know that I will do whatever is required to protect you—even from myself.”