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  “Go on,” Fiallan urged.

  “I heard the amulet's sweet song calling me from within."

  “And inside?”

  “In my dream I was not allowed to enter." She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "Though I longed to do so."

  Egann frowned. He knew this place. Myrddin's Cave. `Twas a place he had no desire to set foot in again.

  Stomping his massive hooves and snorting, Weylyn let them know he was impatient to be off. Deirdre’s kitten let out a loud yowl and both Weylyn’s and Fiallan’s gaze swung in her direction.

  She blinked then, with a delighted laugh, Deirdre held the furry cat in front of her, approaching Weylyn slowly.

  “Here, noble horse, is a creature you must meet,” she said. “Cinnie, meet Weylyn. He is the most powerful steed in all of Britain.”

  That she had named the ugly little cat a word which meant beauty did not surprise Egann. Generous in spirit, his Deirdre would find loveliness in such a helpless creature.

  Fiallan raised his brows again. “From whence did that small animal come?”

  “We found it,” Egann answered, watching as Weylyn extended his massive neck, nostrils flaring as he breathed the kitten’s scent. “In the deserted camp of the Maccus, trapped in a sack of cloth and left to die by the coals of a fire.”

  Weylyn nickered his approval, causing both men to smile.

  “It is of his kind.” Shrugging, Fiallan let his smile fade. “Go where you must, but take care. I sense that whoever has the amulet is learning to use it. If he fully harnesses its power, he will be a formidable opponent indeed.”

  With these cryptic words of warning, the Wise man vanished.

  At Deirdre’s questioning look, Egann grimaced. "Some say that if the wrong man wears the talisman and tries to use it, madness will overtake him. I do not know if this is true or not. Come,” he gestured towards the endless ribbon of road before them, “let me help you onto Weylyn’s back. I want to ride as fast as we can before the sky begins to lighten.”

  “Yes,” she said, tucking the kitten back in the folds of her skirt. “I am ready.”

  As soon as they were mounted, Weylyn needed no second urging. Tossing his head, he launched into a smooth lope.

  Deirdre made a sound, a small squeak of protest at the pace. So Egann wrapped his arms around her, to keep her from becoming unseated during the ride. It took but a moment for him to realize that seating her in front of him might have been a huge mistake.

  The movement of her small bottom against him created a torturous friction, compounded by the fact that, with her so close, he could smell the clean, fresh scent of her.

  What was it about this woman? Though he might complain that the intense attraction she caused in him was an enchantment, some sort of spell cast on them by Goddess knew who, he did not really believe it. Nay, if there was enchantment of any kind, it was in Deirdre herself, for something about her called to him on an elemental level.

  Clenching his jaw, he tried to control his unruly body, knowing she must feel him hardening against her. Now they rode through trees, blocking the dim light of the setting moon and making the darkness more complete. Lucky he was that his mount still saw with the eyes of a cat.

  Knowing Weylyn would watch the road ahead, Egann concentrated on trying to determine why this small mortal woman had such an effect on him.

  She was beautiful true, but he had known many exquisite women, for the females of his species were known even among mortals for their attractiveness.

  Her body was well formed – he stopped this line of thought, knowing if he dwelt on her soft curves and lush body his own would become unmanageable.

  She was kind, he thought, desperately trying to focus on some other path rather than where his aroused member wanted him to go. Kind, yes, and generous, and giving….. Goddess, take him, this endless fixation on Deirdre would help him not.

  Best he try to think on some other thing, such as the mysterious Amulet of Gwymyrr.

  They broke free from the canopy of the trees, and Egann could see once more. The road stretched out ahead of them, as Weylyn's stride ate up the distance.

  “Fare you well?” Deirdre’s voice, concerned and gentle, broke into his thoughts. She half-turned, the additional movement of her sweet little backside causing him to grit his teeth.

  Not trusting himself to answer, he gave her a brusque nod.

  “Tell me the rest of the story,” she requested, the amused breathlessness of her tone telling him that she was well aware of his arousal. But then, how could she not be, when he felt as huge and hard as a mating stallion?

  It took a moment for her words to register. Then, realizing she waited for his response, he could not fathom her meaning.

  “The story?”

  “Yes.” She gave him a patient smile over her shoulder. “Though it sounded as if he meant to tell me, Fiallan never finished telling of how this amulet of yours got it’s name. I'd like to know now. Who was Gwymyrr and why did she weep?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  In seeking a means to distract him, Deirdre wondered if she’d asked the right question, for Egann’s handsome face went dark, his expression shuttered.

  Her hair blew, dancing from her braid in unruly disarray. The breeze had picked up, and seemed to carry the scent of rain.

  “Gwymyrr lived long after the time Fiallan spoke about,” he said, “She had nothing to do with the Maccus or your people.”

  Patience, she told herself, suppressing the urge to wiggle against his swollen manhood burned like a live coal against her backside. For the first time in her life, she had learned the desires of the flesh, and the power such a need held over her body. How she could want Egann again was beyond her, for she had felt completely sated after their lovemaking in the fragrant orchard.

  Yet want him she did, and the yearning to turn until she faced him and take him deep inside her overheated sheath consumed her.

  From the harshness of his breathing, she saw that Egann thought much the same way.

  If they kept on this way, mating at every opportunity, she would end up with child, and then where would she be once he left? Alone to raise a child of both darkness and of light.

  Because she was determined that such a thing never happen, she shook her head to clear her clouded thoughts.

  “Tell me the tale,” she insisted, her voice a smoky purr, even to her own ears. Clearing her throat, she tried again, staring straight ahead at the unchanging fields as they flashed past. “Mayhap if I know more about the talisman, I will dream true when next I sleep and we will be better able to find it.”

  With a single word, Egann slowed Weylyn’s pace to a brisk walk. Unable to resist, Deirdre glanced at him over her shoulder. For a moment he only stared at her, the harsh plains of his face achingly beautiful, softened by the silver light from the moon. The wind, which now had grown chilly, whipped his golden hair about his head and made Deirdre shiver.

  "I have no cloak," he said, telling her that he noted her discomfort. "And I dare not use magic to obtain one."

  "Please, tell me the story," she insisted, refusing to be distracted.

  “Tis a long tale,” he said, still sounding reluctant.

  “The moon still rides in the sky,” she persisted, crossing her arms over her chest in the vague hope of warming herself. “And is more than half way through her nightly journey. Weylyn carries us closer to the amulet. There is enough time for you to tell this tale to me.”

  After she spoke she turned her face away from him, taking great care not this time not to move against him. She tucked her wayward hair under her collar, for the wind teased and tugged at it, and would cause tangles and snarls that would take hours to comb through. Facing straight ahead, at a point of the road directly between Weylyn’s powerful ears, she adopted an attitude of intense listening, hoping he would see this and believe her pretense.

  If she could convince him that she remain unaffected by his arousal, perhaps his own desire woul
d go away.

  “Very well,” he gave an exasperated sigh. “Long ago, even before the Romans first came to your land, in Rune there lived a Queen name Gwymyrr. She did not wish to be Queen and had in fact fought against it before being forced to accept the throne.”

  The sound of the horse’s hooves as they thudded against the hard-packed dirt of the road echoed the beat of her heart, and the hiss of the wind seemed ominous. No wonder Egann had not wanted to speak of this Queen, for much of her situation mirrored his own.

  When he did not continue, Deirdre ventured a quick look at him back at him. Stony-faced, he stared straight ahead, as though in his mind he saw the ancient Faerie Queen of whom he spoke.

  “How was she forced?” Deirdre asked. “Did she not have her own magic, her own powers?”

  “Aye, she did.” Reluctance seemed to color his voice. “But she also loved deeply a mortal man. When he lay injured and dying from a wound of war, she knew only Fae magic could heal him. But it would take more than her magic alone, for in bringing him back from the brink of human death, he would then become Fae himself. She needed the help of her council.

  “Then they had something to bargain with. The life of her lover for her acceptance of the throne.”

  Deirdre found herself holding her breath. “So she became Queen. And her beloved, did he live?”

  “Nay,” he answered, his tone reflective. “He did not. She waited too long to make her decision. By the time the healers reached him, the man’s wounds had become fatal. It was because he did not live that Gwymyrr became Queen.”

  Was there a warning in this tale?

  Still watching him, Deirdre worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “There is no reason in your tale. Why would she accept the throne she had not wanted if she had no cause to do so?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “`Tis only a tale. So long ago did Gwymyrr live that much of her life has been lost in the mists of time. I only know that become Queen she did. She ruled Rune wisely and justly for a extensive reign, though she never ceased to mourn.”

  “What happened to her?” Deirdre whispered, her throat tight, her heart aching in sympathy for this Queen of ancient times.

  As if in answer, the wind blew a sudden gust, so strong that she clutched at Weylyn’s mane to steady herself. Still, she had to know.

  “Since Faeries do not die, where did she go?”

  His short bark of laughter startled her. “That is only another myth in which you mortals believe. Our lives are long, yes. Especially in comparison with those of mankind. But we do eventually die, some of us sooner than one might wish.”

  From the bleakness of his tone, she knew he thought of Banan.

  “But the amulet?” Doggedly, she persisted, still trying to fit together all the jagged pieces of the tale in her mind. “How came this magical talisman to be?”

  “I know not.” Again the indifference, again the sharp tone. “But the legends say the mourning lament is Gwymyrr’s own; that the amulet cries eternally for the man she loved and lost.”

  “It does not.” Pushing her hair from her eyes, Deirdre spoke without thinking, immediately wishing she could call back the words. Behind her she could feel Egann’s entire body stiffen in reaction.

  “So you think you know more about this than my own people, little mortal?” he drawled. While his words might have sounded teasing, his tone was not.

  She took a deep breath, tasting the wind. The scent of rain seemed stronger now, and she shivered in earnest.

  “The amulet mourns, this is true,” she said quietly, yet loud enough to be heard over the wind. “But it mourns because it does not have a Queen – or a King. Perhaps the grieving began when Gwymyrr died, I cannot know. But this I do understand. The talisman will weep until a ruler comes forward, a rightful monarch who will accept the empty throne of Rune.”

  She did not say that this sovereign should be him; she did not have to. Either Egann would realize that himself, or another would have to be found to take his place.

  “You would have me be like Gwymyrr?” The bitter incredulity she heard in his voice made her grimace.

  “Of course not. I only say what I have heard in the amulet’s song.”

  “I see.”

  Chancing a glance back at him, she could tell by the set of his jaw and rigid profile that he did not find her words to his liking. Ah well, she had only spoken truth. `Twas not her place to convince or coerce this proud man; she would leave that to Wise Fae like Fiallan. What cared she for the doings of the Fae anyway? Those bright beings’ lives and hers would never mesh. She would never see Rune, never walk in bright sunlight among the exquisite beauty of the landscape. For, along with the curse she carried that forbid her to walk in daylight, she was denied entry into Rune.

  Sometimes the injustice of it all made her want to weep; other times she wanted to raise her fist and rail against the capriciousness of the fates. And now that she had learned of the reason for her exile in the darkness, she did not understand why she – and all the other Shadow Dancers that surely must exist somewhere – should have to pay for the mistakes made by the Maccus and by Egann’s ancestors.

  That was the worst of it, that it all had been a blunder, an error in judgment. That knowledge sat like a lump in her stomach, heavy and sour.

  Though, she reflected resentfully, she now had more reason to help Egann find the missing amulet. If by doing so, the powerful stones could help him lift an age-old curse, any danger she found herself in would be well worth the trouble.

  And what of her? Could the small magic that she created when she shadow danced be of any use to her now? Somehow Deirdre doubted it, as she was but a human and the so-called magic produced by her dance was more of a good-luck charm than anything tangible. The people of the cliffs had used it to bless their crops and promise a fruitful harvest, nothing more.

  Truly, she had little magic, not like the Fae. Egann had told her as much, once before. She was mortal, after all. What magic she was able to create with her Shadow Dance was used for blessings, good crops and fertile fields, nothing more. She had only her dreams and the visions of the amulet, that and the powerful attraction between her body and Egann’s. That would have to be enough, for now.

  As long as she could avoid the Maccus, with the killing fires they made as they sacrificed to their red and angry god. Now that she knew why they sought to kill Shadow Dancers and that they had their own sort of magic, they were a formidable threat indeed.

  She peered at the winding road ahead, trying to see where they were going. As if the weather mocked her, clouds scuttled across the face of the moon, plunging them into sudden darkness.

  She knew a moments disorientation, then the solid feel of Egann on the horse behind her gave her ease.

  “If the Maccus have the amulet,” she asked, speaking her fears out loud, “What protection will I, and others that Dance in the Shadows, have from them?”

  “I have thought of that,” his voice sounded as cool as the ice that sometimes crusted the winter sea. “When next I locate the Maccus who seeks to wear it, I will find a place to hide you.”

  “You mean to face them alone?”

  “Aye. `Tis me they have stolen from, and I cannot do battle with them and protect you all at the same time.” He spoke in the reasonable tone of one who knows he is right.

  This so irked Deirdre that she found herself speechless.

  But only for a moment. Incredulous, she shot him a glance and a stiff smile. “Have you not heard a single thing I have said? Have my dreams and the visions I have seen had no influence on your thoughts?”

  “Few hours remain before the dawn. I have no wish to quarrel with you.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth when the wind began to howl. Above them, the clouds chose that moment to loose the rain. Icy needles of water stabbed her, as the wind continued its vicious assault. Deirdre began to shiver in earnest, unable to control the tremors that shook her.

&nb
sp; Immediately Egann spurred Weylyn on.

  “We must find shelter,” he shouted, “I like not how the air seems to crackle with energy.”

  She felt it too – the sense of lurking danger, like lightening waited to strike them, not from the sky above, but from the ground below.

  Even her little kitten, snuggled within the folds of her robe, seemed to sense something. Poking her tiny head up, she yowled at Deirdre, fur bristling.

  Weylyn began to run, though the night was dark and the slashing rain made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

  With a hand on her shoulder, Egann pushed Deirdre down, so that she crouched low over the powerful horse's neck. Egann bent over her. This blocked some of the rain, though she could not control her violent shivering.

  And so they charged ahead, headed north into the inky darkness, while the storm did its best to discourage them.

  When morning came, would they even know it? Never had Deirdre been caught unaware by the advent of day, until she met this prince of Rune.

  "We will find you shelter before daylight," Egann promised, making her wonder if he had somehow read her thoughts.

  "I know." She took a deep breath, glad for once that he could not see her expression. "I worry more that Weylyn will stumble and hurt himself."

  "He has the eyes of a cat." This explanation begged for questions, but Deirdre liked not the increasing feel of some sort of current that still flowed and swirled around them.

  "It grows stronger," she said, knowing he would understand her words.

  "Aye, it does. This storm," though Egann shouted, the screech of the wind carried his words away, "`tis not natural. Something else—"

  Five riders, wind whipping their dark cloaks around them, materialized in the gloomy darkness around them.

  Sliding to a bone-jarring halt, Weylyn tossed his head and let out a sound that none could mistake for any less than a warning.

  Two blocked on the path behind them, three others barred their way in front. Five cloaked and hooded riders total, though she doubted this time they meant to disappear.