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| Original by J. Bevans |
Can you tell I'm really excited this book is finally out?
In the meantime, here's the story that started this series. My crit group at the time was challenging each other to write shorts. It might have been for a contest. I can't remember now. While the story isn't as polish, having been written over ten years ago, it showcases Sir Villdemore and his lady wife, Siphinea. Both characters make an appearance in both The Keeper of Moon Haven and The Rose Hunter. After writing this short story, the idea for The Keeper of Moon Haven was born and with it the idea for the series revolving around Alfheim Haven and the Blue Moon.
Mendip
Hill where the Wookey Hole Caves penetrate deep into the earth, 853AD
“Toad fodder! Thou shalt not peck at my
head like some worrisome Alfar Faery. King Jadestone canst hate me for all eternity,
but I shalt not steal a bride.”
Horatio Villdemore, former Ealdorman of
Lockenworth, growled deep in his throat. Simon gave him a perplexed look before
casting a heavy sigh. Horatio rolled his eyes.
“The king will no’ be happy.” Simon dogged
his steps.
Horatio continued to stroll toward his damp
habitat. The lantern he held illuminated a large, roomy cavern surrounded by
stalagmites and stalactites. Moisture clung to his fur, a phenomena he usually
paid little heed to. Today, however, he felt melancholy, and the droplets of
water became an annoying reminder of what he’d become.
“The king’s disposition is of no concern to
me.”
Like a flea nipping at his skin, Simon
continued to pester. “He’ll banish ye topside where the sun will burn ye to a crisp
or turn ye to stoone.”
“Forsooth, thou tryeth my patience. I tried
once to force a woman to love me by mixing a potion. She came upon me and
realized my nefarious intent at the exact moment the egg of Liestra hatched.
Thou seeth before thee the result of such folly. I shalt ne’er use force again
upon a woman. I canst not and wilt not obey the king. I have had three hundred
years to think of the past. If I die tomorrow, so be it.” He turned his back,
dismissing Simon with his actions.
Simon skittered in front of him, rounded
ears standing at attention. “Did ye hear that?”
Horatio stood still and perked his own
ears. He heard nothing save the trickle of water that fell from nearby
stalactites.
“Listen. The pit o’ redemption. A top-sider
falls.”
At Simon’s words, Horatio gritted his
teeth. Without waiting to see if Simon followed, he hurried to the spot. He had
no wish to see another crumpled body upon the cold stone floor.
Horatio rushed to save another poor soul,
not knowing Siphinea Raven had fled into the night, her bare feet flying across
the harsh terrain, not knowing his fate had caught him. The dogs yelped louder, their incessant
baying enough to wake the dead. Fire exploded within Siphinea’s chest. Her
breath came short and fast. Cramps attacked her legs as she forced them to move
faster.
Harsh whispers sounded closer.
The Wild Hunt continued and she was the
Sluagh’s prey.
She glanced over her shoulder to gauge the
distance between herself and the Sluagh. Her legs caught in her flowing skirt.
“There! I think I see her!”
Tripping, she fell forward. Her arms flew
out to catch herself and found nothing but air.
She screamed. Loud and hard.
The sensation of falling caught her
unawares. Darkness enveloped her descent into a gaping void.
A hole. She’d stumbled into a hole.
She continued to verbalize her fear, the
sound echoing off the damp, musty walls. Volumes of material billowed about
her. Fresh flowers woven with care flew from her hair.
Seconds turned into minutes. Death approached.
The jaws of Hell loomed before her, its mouth a gaping pit of darkness. Knowing
all was lost, she closed her eyes.
Resigned to death, she floated on a cushion
of air, weightless, buoyant.
Ooomph! She landed on an unexpected pillow
of warmth.
Arms cradled her against a soft, downy
chest. A musky odor tantalized her senses.
Dead? She had felt no pain.
Slowly, almost fearful, she opened her
eyes.
She blinked. A face covered in hair the
shade and texture of a lion’s mane gazed down upon her. She filled her lungs
with gulps of air. Hell had claimed her for sure.
The creature growled, a low snarl that
caused her scalp to tingle. Her arms pushed against leather skin. It held her
tight.
Frantic, she grabbed a fist full of fur and
yanked as hard as she could. “Release me, at once.”
“Ow!” The creature dropped her and rubbed
the spot where a clump of hair once grew.
Her bottom connected with hard ground,
bruising her tender skin. Her eyes lifted to the creature’s. Its massive
physique loomed above and it peered down at her with beady, green eyes. Lantern
light cast a soft, orange glow upon its apelike features.
“The top-sider does no’ appreciate yer
chivalry, Sir Villdemore,” a voice from the darkness mocked.
It turned its head toward the voice. “I
believe she hath ne’er seen a troll before.”
A troll? She’d landed in a den of trolls?
She scrambled backwards, her fear greater
now than anything she’d experienced before the fall. Even the Sluagh, the
outcasts of the Faery community with their forbidding nature, seemed preferable
to the troll she now faced.
She took a deep, steadying breath. “Stay
away.”
A smaller gnome with a bulbous nose and
pudgy fingers stepped forward and tilted its head. “Ye think she’s the answer
to yer prayer, Sir Villdemore?”
“Aye, Simon. The possibility hath not
escaped my thoughts ere I frighten her with such a hideous façade.”
“She’s a pretty thing for a top-sider.” The
gnome creature loped forward.
Top-sider? Did they think her human? She
frowned. They couldn’t see her pointed ears for the long hair that had been
loosened in the fall.
The beast crouched down in front of her. It
reached out to touch her cheek. She strained away. It wouldn’t be deterred, and
the soft pad of its finger grazed her skin.
Gentle. The tender caress of its feather
light touch settled her nerves. What magic did this abomination have over her?
“You hath nothing to fear, lass.”
The deep, rich timbre of its voice marked
it as male. And he spoke English with civilized articulation. Could he be
harmless?
She adjusted to his odd looks, deciding his
soothing voice and kind words marked him as tame. And – he had saved her life.
She
glanced around her winsome surroundings. Walls of tiny crystal particles
glimmered in the soft light. Tapered fingers of layered minerals grew from
ceiling to floor. Such visual delight could not possibly decorate the walls of
Hell.
“I hath ne’er laid eyes upon anything such
as this. Where am I?”
“Trolls call it home. Top-siders call it
Jadestone’s Cavern, a small portion of the Wookey Hole Caves,” he replied. “I
am known as Sir Villdemore. And thou art?”
“Siphinea. Siphinea Raven.”
The creature’s eyes narrowed. Hot breath
caressed her face. “Raven?”
She nodded. He pulled away abruptly, his
manner tense, agitated.
“You hath knowledge of me?” Her curiosity
transcended her fear.
“Aye, lass.”
“And?”
He laughed. The derisive sound made her
hairs stand on end. “’Tis the name of the bride King Jadestone wouldst have me
wed. The fates must be laughing.”
“Bride?” Trolls were known to take human
wives, but she’d never heard of them taking an Elfen bride.
“Female trolls art unable to breed
children. Therefore, male trolls steal human females for their mates.” He
explained as if she had no knowledge of such practices.
She gave him a gentle smile. “Then I’m not
the one thou seeks, Sir Villdemore.” She pulled back her hair to expose her
ears. “I’m an Elf of Celtic origin. I believe thou must think of us as Faery.”
He touched her ear. His features tightened
into a perplexed frown. “King Jadestone made no mistake. He must have some
reason for wanting a troll mated to an elf. He bade me kidnap thee from thou
brugh.”
“Thou jests!” She backed away, horrified by
his statement.
His lips curled in a crooked smile. “Thy
virtue is safe, lass. I hath no intention of following the king’s orders.”
She leaned forward. “Doth thou not?”
“Nay. What need hath I for a scrawny
female.”
Incensed, she walked toward him, stabbing a
finger at his chest. “Scrawny I am not, sir.”
His hand reached out and touched her again.
“Indeed, thou art a vision, well rounded and enticing. Art thou more pleased
with this description?”
A shiver of excitement slithered up her
spine.
Attraction?
She ignored his question. She’d escaped one
beast only to find another. Where was her fear, her revulsion? She felt drawn
to the gentleness in his eyes as if she could see past his fangs and pointed
ears.
His lascivious grin caused her to pull
away. She needed time to think, to evaluate her situation. Her mind became a
tangled web of thought. She tried to recall what she knew of trolls. When very
little information wiggled from her memory, she tried to think of questions she
might put to the beast.
The heat of his gaze swept her from head to
toe. He circled her, studying her as if she were the oddity.
“This place? How far did I fall?” She
moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
“The depth canst not be measured in given
increments. A fall like that depends upon the amount of fear fueling your
approach. Wert thou frightened, consumed with such fear your heart pushed
against its confines, straining to explode within your chest?”
Her eyes bulged at the accuracy of his
description. “I couldst scarcely breathe.”
“Pits
of redemption.”
“What?”
“The hole you fell into is known as a pit
of redemption. A person doth not happen upon such unless fear drives them. Tell
me, lass. What demons nipped at thy heels to cause thee to fall such a
distance?”
She shivered, remembering her harried run
through the forest.
“The Sluagh,” she whispered. “I was their
quarry for their Wild Hunt. They wanted me with a single-minded determination
that fueled my fear.”
“Mmm.” The great beast rubbed his chin. “Aye,
I suspect they wert not alone in the wanting.”
“What?”
His green eyes deepened, penetrating her
soul. She felt his strength of character, his noble desire to help others. She
shuddered as conflicting emotions converged. Trolls were supposedly hideous
creatures, reeking havoc on the unsuspecting. Sir Villdemore seemed different.
She took a step closer. Could this beast offer her sanctuary from her
preordained future? She smiled at the irony of this thought. The troll had
meant to kidnap her, hadn’t he?
“Wouldst thou have stolen me hadst I not
fallen into your arms?”
He acted incensed. “Nay. I steal no brides.”
“What now?”
“I return you topside where thou shalt go
about your business.” A sadness crept into his voice. She sensed his deep
loneliness.
“You wouldst?”
“Aye.”
She’d never heard of a troll relinquishing
a captive. Could she trust him? From the villagers, she’d often heard stories
of young maidens being carried off into the night. Her heart softened towards
him. How odd. Elves normally did not feel such strong emotions unless their
hearts became touched by the goodness of another.
“Doth thou always catch creatures when they
fall through the pit?”
Simon peered around Sir Villdemore’s great
bulk. “Nay, he’s often too late, but it does no’ keep him from trying. And when
he fails, he sulks for days.”
“Enough, Simon,” he said.
“I thought trolls harmed humans and other
beings whenever they had a chance.”
“He would save ’em all.” Simon swept his
arms wide. Leaning forward, he whispered, “Do no’ breathe a word, lass. ’Tis no’
in the troll’s code of honor. But then, he was no’ always a troll. He used to
be a man.”
She gazed up at Sir Villdemore. “A man?
How?”
“Sorcery.”
Intrigued, she lifted one brow. “Canst the
spell be undone?”
Sir Villdemore shrugged. “I hath yet to
find a way, but given a choice I wouldst gladly re-walk the earth in human
form.”
Marriage. She’d run from home tonight to
escape an unwanted betrothal. Her father had offered her to Lundro, a dark
Jotun giant with a soul as black as Loki’s. She suspected Lundro of setting the
Sluagh on her heels.
A choice. She had a choice. Marry the
monster hidden within the man or marry a man buried within the monster. She
reached out a hand and centered it upon his chest. His heart accelerated from
her boldness. Her eyes met his. He’d been nothing but kind in his dealings with
her.
“The king hath ordered you to marry and so
you shall.”
“Thou wouldst do this willingly?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “I
wouldst rather marry a troll with a heart than a man with no soul.”
“Thou hath no idea what you say, lass.” He narrowed his eyes to slits and his nostrils flared wide.
Silence stretched forward, dark and menacing. He didn’t seem happy with her
offer. Had she read him wrong?
His hand reached out. Long, sharp fingernails lightly grazed the
side of her cheek. She closed her eyes.
He won’t hurt me. He’s
not like other trolls.
Her throat constricted. She opened her eyes. “I vow I do,
sirrah.”
The sharp point of his fingernail pressed deeper. Her skin burned
where he drew blood. He pulled his hand away and sniffed. His wet, rough tongue
grazed the wound. “Trolls eat humans. I imagine an Alfar Faery would prove just
as tasty. Didst thou know this?”
Did he purposely try to intimidate her? Her fingers explored the
spot where he had licked her. The scratch had completely healed. “But thou dost
not partake in the human delicacy, dost thou?”
Sighing, he pulled away. “Nay. But thou hath no idea the
restraint required not to feast upon such a tasty morsel. Come, it is long past
time I return thee to thy world.”
Calloused fingers took her by the arm, meaning to lead her away.
She balked. Without a stolen bride, the king would kill him. His life force
felt warm and vibrant upon her arm. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear the thought of
his death. Whether he agreed or not, he needed her. Certain of the course she
must take, she pulled her arm free.
“I wilt not go. The king orders thee to marry, hath chosen me as
thy intended bride. I wilt not let thee die.”
“Stubborn woman. I shalt not marry you. The price might be
higher than death, and I shan’t take the risk.”
“Thou wilt not need force. I come to this marriage willingly.”
He grabbed her to him. His naked chest pressed full against her.
“Willingly? Hath thou any idea what exactly that means?”
She closed her eyes. “Aye.”
He lowered his lips upon hers, his desire hungry and bruising.
Both repulsed and intrigued, she froze.
He means to frighten me away.
She absorbed the feel of his body against hers, heard the erratic
beat of his heart. She tasted his passion. How could something so heady not be
right? Her body melted against his, drinking in the unfamiliar emotions his
kiss evoked.
“So, Sir Villdemore. Thou hath no wish to die. I am greatly
relieved thou hath followed my edict.”
Sir Villdemore pushed her away to face his king. He bowed,
acknowledging the sovereign entity before him. “King Jadestone.”
With trembling fingers, she touched her swollen lips. Her gaze
swept over him. He remained a troll. She’d half hoped the kiss would be enough
to break the spell, yet it did not matter. She hadn’t been repulsed by his lips
upon hers. The hairs on his cheek tickled her neck when he leaned in close. “Tell
him you desire this union.”
Confusion gripped her. Did he now agree with her plan? She
started to speak, but the king cut her off.
“Pretty and young. I might change my mind and marry you myself.”
The king lowered his shaggy head and sniffed. A dark red tongue snaked out over
his full lips. She shuddered.
His large belly jiggled with laughter. “Alas, one more wife
wouldst only add to my troubles. You seem subdued, my dear, in shock over what
has transpired. Good, good. Save the fight for later. A troll’s greatest prize
is the wife who fears him.”
“I want to go home now.” Her voice sounded weak even to her
ears. She had no wish to remain in this particular troll’s company. Stepping
into Sir Villdemore’s embrace, she nestled against his warmth. She wanted him
to take her away from the king’s menacing presence.
“Nay, lass.” A worried frown marred Sir Villdemore’s furry brow.
“Tell him how you truly feel. Tell him how you desire to be my wife.”
Confusion made her strain against the arms that held her. “Let
me go.” She wanted to see his face.
The king laughed again. “A fighter. Mayhap, she hath Viking
blood in her veins. Thou hath done well in stealing this female. Her fear seems
great. Sir Villdemore, do you claim this prize for your wife?”
At that moment she understood clearly what transpired. A troll’s
code of honor must only allow unwilling maidens to become wives. Sir Villdemore
wanted her cooperation, so the king would shun the union, forcing Sir
Villdemore to return her topside. The crafty troll sought a way out as a means
of saving her from himself. He didn’t understand her alternative frightened her
more.
Before he could refuse the king’s question, she leaned over and
in a voice meant for only his ears asked, “Thou shalt return me topside when
you refuse the king?”
“Yea, you know I shall.”
The loud words bounced off the cavern walls. The king thought he
had his answer and the misunderstanding sealed their fate. “Good, Good. ’Tis
done. I now pronounce you wed for all eternity. The Alfar Faery is yours, Sir
Villdemore.”
For good measure, Siphinea screamed and fainted to the ground.
She heard the king’s laughter echo along the corridors as he left her alone
with Sir Villdemore.
Minutes stretched forward.
A stubby greenish brown toe pushed at her hip. “Thou canst stop
playing dead. The King is no longer in our presence.”
Siphinea opened one eye and then the other. She scrambled to a
standing position without the aid of Sir Villdemore. “Was that it?”
“What dost thou mean?”
“The marriage ceremony didst not seem like a ceremony at all.
Art we truly wed?”
“Verily, it depends on your definition of wed. The king’s
blessing saw it done. By the troll code of honor, thou art now mine to do with
as I see fit.”
Their shadows danced upon the cavern wall, the flickering
lantern light making them seem more animated. “I see.”
His gnarled hand closed around her flesh. Pain snaked up her
arm. He pulled her closer to him. “Nay, thou dost not see. Hath thou any idea
what takes place between two mates? Canst thou picture thyself lying naked
beside this grotesque body? I have hair where hair shouldst not grow. My feet
art twice the size of my head. My teeth resemble those of a wolf while my ears
belong on a donkey. I am a monster, a troll.”
Her gaze dropped to his overlarge feet. She hadn’t really
thought past saving herself from Lundro’s clutches and preventing Sir
Villdemore’s death.
Wed.
More importantly; wed to a troll. No, not a troll. Sir
Villdemore had once been a man, and by all she’d seen and heard, a proud man.
The memory of their kiss teased her senses. She was capable of
enjoying his embrace. She raised her head. “Tell me your name. I feel I
shouldst know thee by a less formal address.”
“Horatio.”
“A proud name for a proud man.”
With a fierce growl, he reached up and broke the tip of a
stalactite. “A man I am not. I canst never be the man you envision.”
“Thou art not a troll, either. A troll wouldst not have tried so
hard to turn me away. A troll wouldst have allowed me to fall to my death, so
it could feast upon my flesh.”
The hardened mineral clattered against the wall where he threw
it. He gathered her to him, crushing her body against his. “Silver blonde hair
dances around your waist. Delicate features surround deep blue eyes. And pale
skin shines with a translucent quality. Thou art beautiful, a rare creature to
tempt such a beast.”
She placed a trembling hand upon his heart, and the other upon
his cheek. “I see only a man, a man with a burden to endure. I wouldst bear
that burden with you.”
And so it came to pass that Siphinea Raven married a hideous
beast, overlooking his outer image and searching her heart for the true beauty
within.
