Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

“I’m so glad,” Morag said faintly. A bit desperate, she looked around and felt almost weak with relief when Ashk and Padrick joined them.

Ashk smiled at the children. “There’s someone waiting to greet you. Just follow that path. You can leave the pony here,” she told Caitlin. Then she frowned at Evan. “Why did you ride behind your father? Where’s your pony?”

Evan gave Ashk a sweet smile. “I lent it to Ari, along with my little pony cart. It’s small enough to fit on most of the forest trails, and that way Ari won’t have to walk so much when she’s gathering her plants this summer.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Ashk said.

Padrick coughed. “Go on now. And remember to come back. You’re the guest of honor at this feast, and we can’t begin without you.”

The children grinned at him. Evan dashed down the path. Caitlin shoved the pony’s reins into her mother’s hand and ran after him.

“Morag?” Ashk said. “You look pale. Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’ve been talking to your children.”

“Oh, dear,” Ashk and Padrick said.

“I’ve never met children quite like them.”

Ashk gave her a cool look. “They’re not so different from other children.”

“Not the children here in the west,” Padrick said. “But, perhaps, different from the children who had grown up knowing only Tir Alainn?”

“Yes,” Morag said, relieved he understood—and then wondered why he understood so well.

“My Lady,” Padrick said, looking pointedly at Ashk.

“Morag,” Ashk said, “this is Padrick, the Baron of Breton—and my husband. Padrick, this is Morag, the Gatherer.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Morag,” Padrick said.

Morag stared at both of them. Husband? Not just mate?

She must have looked as startled as she felt, because Padrick said, “The gentry require a legal heir to a baron’s estate, so Ashk indulged me in following the human custom of marriage.”

“I see,” Morag said. But she didn’t see. Not really. A baron and a Lady of the Woods. Gentry and Fae. Not just living separately side by side in their own little pieces of the world, but weaving those pieces together.

Do you know how different all of you are from the rest of the Fae? Morag wondered.

The feral amusement in Ashk’s woodland eyes told her clearly that Ashk, at least, was quite aware that the Clan’s acceptance of her union with a gentry baron would be incomprehensible to Fae beyond the west.

When she saw that same feral amusement in Padrick’s eyes, understanding struck her as hard as a physical blow. She hadn’t looked beyond the human face and the gentry title, hadn’t considered there might be a reason to look beneath the surface. She should have considered it, especially after living with Neall and Ari for the past few days.

Padrick might be gentry and a baron, but he was also Fae.

“The children are returning,” Ashk said after a moment of long silence. “Shall we join the others for the feast?”

As the late afternoon gave way to evening, and the feasting gave way to the dancing and the music and the stories, Morag couldn’t shake the feeling that when she’d crossed into the territory of the western Clans, she’d crossed more of a boundary than she’d realized.

Declining to participate in another dance, she sat beside Ari, glad to have a moment when she could watch instead of being swept along in the celebration.

“Why didn’t you tell me Ashk was married to the local baron?” Morag asked, feeling a little hurt that she’d been excluded from what was, after all, common knowledge among this Clan. It reminded her too sharply that she was still an outsider, might always be an outsider.

“It didn’t occur to me,” Ari said. Then she hesitated. “You’ve said very little about where you’ve been over this past year, but I think we’ve all sensed it was a hard journey, for the heart as well as the body. You’ve had enough things to adjust to in the few days since you’ve come to live here.” She lightly touched Morag’s arm. “They’re different from the rest of the Fae, aren’t they?”

Morag looked at the men and women laughing and dancing, and almost— almost —understood something that had been eluding her since she’d arrived at this Clan house. “Yes, they’re different.”

In her bedroom at the Clan house, Ashk lay on her back in bed, dreamily watching the candlelight play with the shadows on the ceiling. The night air dried the sweat, chilling her skin except where Padrick’s arm lay heavy and warm across her belly and his head rested on her shoulder.

“If I were still a randy young man, my cock would already be willing to try again,” Padrick said.

“Hmm,” Ashk replied, too sated to think of anything else to say.

Padrick raised his head. “That’s the best you can do, woman? You’re supposed to say something flattering.”

Ashk turned her head to look at him. “A seasoned lover is better than a randy young man.”

He grunted. Dropped his head back down on her shoulder.

Ashk smiled. “So what were the three of you talking about this evening? You looked so serious.”

“Who?”

Now Ashk grunted. “You know very well who. You and Evan and Neall.”

“Oh. That. If you must know, we were comparing the size of our cocks.”

Ashk snorted. “Oh. Well. Must have been embarrassing when Evan came out the winner of that little contest.”

“You’ve never had any complaints when I stand at attention, wife,” Padrick grumbled.

She just grinned.

“Well,” he said, rolling onto his back. “You might as well know. Since you started it, you’ll have to finish it.”

“Started what?” Ashk said, sitting up so that she was in a better position to give her husband a narrow-eyed stare. “Finish what?”

“You should learn to be more careful about what you put in writing, darling wife.”

The way Padrick was smiling at her made her nervous. “I didn’t put anything in writing.”

His smiled widened. “Oh, now. Who was it who was feeling maudlin a few months ago because her firstborn was away at school on his birthday?”

“I wasn’t feeling maudlin!” But she had been. She’d just hoped Padrick hadn’t noticed.

“And who was it who fretted over only being able to send gifts that wouldn’t be remarked upon at a gentry school?”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Ashk said defensively, sensing a trap but not able to see the shape of it.

“And who was it who wrote that firstborn son a letter and told him that because he wasn’t home to celebrate his birthday, he could choose his gift when he came home?”

“So?” When he didn’t say anything, she wondered how he’d enjoy being shoved out of bed. “What’s that got—?” She began to see the shape of the trap. “What’s that got to do with Neall?”

“And who is it, my darling wife, who has some of the finest horses in the county?”

“A horse?” Ashk stared at her husband. “I never said Evan could have a horse!”

“And you never said he couldn’t.”

“He’s too young to have a horse. Besides, he has a pony.”

“No, he doesn’t. He lent the pony, and the little pony cart along with it, to Ari.”

“But—”

“Our boy learned more in this past year than could be found in schoolbooks. He’s made friends with a couple of boys from a well-to-do merchant family from eastern Sylvalan, and the three of them went over every word of that letter as if it were a contract full of fine print.”

“But—”

Padrick burst out laughing. “Oh, you should have heard him, Ashk, telling Neall how he’d been thinking of Ari walking through the woods for hours at a time to gather her plants, and her with a babe heavy in her belly, and how, being another man, he could appreciate that Neall would be carrying a bit of worry about that, which is why he offered Ari the loan of the pony and the cart, even though it meant he wouldn’t have a mount of his own. And then observing, just casual-like, that there’s that one gelding that Glenn brought with him when he came west to join Neall and Ari that really was too small for a grown man—”