Storm Warrior

and sex were normal parts of life among the clans, and there were no customs or laws decrying them. Women as well as men chose their partners as they pleased, and no one thought ill of it nor attempted to deter it. In this time, however, there were rules aplenty, written and unwritten, and so many social mores that Rhys wondered if he would ever remember them all.

“Next time I’ll be certain to dress for the occasion,” Rhys said and made his escape. For a moment he considered placing his body on the far side of the horse, but customs be damned, it wasn’t in his nature to hide— and besides, he’d rather keep the group’s attention on him than the rest of the farm.

Particularly with a dead bwgan still lying in the field.

If the group kept to the corral, they wouldn’t be able to see the monster salamander—if they could see it at all. Now that Rhys was mortal, he wasn’t certain why he could see the thing, but perhaps it was because he’d once been a fae creature himself. As a boy, he’d known people who had the gift, as it was said, meaning they could perceive the Fair Ones readily, but over the centuries fewer and fewer had the ability. It was unlikely that any of Jay’s group had a latent talent for seeing faeries.

Morgan, however, might be different. If she really did possess some fae blood as the messengers had claimed, would she see what others could not? Rhys had no idea how he would explain the bwgan’s existence, never mind its presence.

First things first, however. Rhys made the horse comfortable, checked the bandages again, paying particular attention to those on the left hind leg. He filled her bucket with fresh water, and she buried her nose in it, drinking long and deep.

He sought water too, standing under the shower in his quarters as he pondered his biggest problem. How did one dispose of a bwgan? He didn’t know how long Jay and his friends were going to linger—he didn’t even know what it was they were here to practice. Morgan was sure to be home soon as well. That meant the bwgan could not be dealt with until after dark, but he hated to leave it so long. He was still thinking it through as he toweled off and dressed, deciding to go barefoot until his shoes dried. Maybe he could—

A sudden sound set every nerve alert. Unmistakable and impossible at the same time, it resonated again. And again. A ring of steel on steel that Rhys had heard countless thousands of times over the centuries but never in recent history.

Swords.

ELEVEN

Despite Jay’s urgent warning to take the pieces of the silver collar home, she’d managed to drag her feet for a couple more days. Now Morgan plunked the box in the backseat of her car. It wasn’t the only task she’d been putting off. She’d been intending to get the collar repaired, just as she’d told Jay, and hadn’t done it—but it wasn’t because she hadn’t had time. She could have made the time, would have made the time. Except the real reason she’d thought to have the collar fixed was not so she could put it back on the dog. It was so she would have something to remember the dog by.

Which would mean she’d given up on ever seeing Rhyswr again. And so she’d stuck the box in her office where it was guaranteed to be buried by papers and books and samples of veterinary pharmaceuticals. Out of sight, out of mind.

The silver links were very much on her mind now, however. And so were Jay’s words. And what Rhys had once said too. Good grief, was she starting to believe that faery-forged crap? But what other explanation was there? She’d thought she had it all figured out, but the news about the silver blew all her theories away. Now her brain hurt from trying to make sense of the impossible.

Needing a friend to talk to, she’d tried phoning Gwen several times but hadn’t succeeded in reaching her. She wished with all her heart that she could talk to her grandmother. For some reason, it seemed that Nainie might have been the one person who could decipher the strange situation. What if Jay was right? Morgan sighed then and shook her head as she climbed into the car. No. She wasn’t ready to start accepting faery tales as truth. There was a perfectly logical explanation, a scientific explanation for all this. There had to be. She just hadn’t figured it out yet.

She turned her car into her driveway and was surprised to find Jay’s green pickup parked by the barn, as well as a big gray truck attached to a horse trailer. Was it that day already? Jay and his role-playing buddies came to the farm to practice archery, swordplay, and occasionally even jousting activities that didn’t readily fit in suburban backyards.

Morgan parked beside the other vehicles and had barely gotten out of the car before she was captured in a hug by Jay’s wife, Starr.

“I’m so glad to see you! Did you just get off work? You must be starving—we’ve laid out a picnic since it’s so nice outside, and there’s lots and lots of food. Let me find you a plate. Oh, and you have to try the fruit bars I made,” Starr chattered as she led Morgan around the corner of the barn.

“Thanks. If they’ll give me your energy, I could really use some,” said Morgan with a laugh. If it would give me some of your style, I’d like that too. Starr had straight black hair that hung to her waist, intricately braided with beads and tiny bells. She always dressed in bright gauzy layers of hand-dyed cloth, long skirts and shawls and scarves. Starr’s unique bohemian fashions enhanced her appearance rather than detracted from it, and next to her, Morgan always felt plain as a jenny wren (to borrow a phrase from Nainie). And yet she was certain she’d trip on her own skirt or be choked by a scarf if she ever tried to dress like that. She certainly couldn’t work in such clothes…And what do I ever do but work?

The air was suddenly rent with loud cheers and decidedly male hoots that belonged more to a football game than to archery. Still chuckling, she turned to look—then stopped in her tracks and stared.

The group was cheering for Rhys. Riding without saddle or reins, he was guiding a big black Friesian in an easy circle as he drew a medieval longbow. His aim was astonishing—he nocked arrow after arrow and all flew into the center of a straw target.

“Can you believe it?” asked Starr, a little dreamily. “He’s directing Brandan’s horse with nothing but pure body language. I guess that’s how dressage is done, but Boo’s never been trained for it.”

Body language. Rhys’s body was certainly communicating something to hers, Morgan thought, unable to take her eyes off him. The black T-shirt he wore only seemed to emphasize the heavy muscle beneath. He was an imposing figure on horseback, yet as always, his movements were graceful, fluid. Both bow and horse seemed to be part of him, moving as a seamless whole. She’d never openly admired a man in her life, but there was no help for it—every sensuous dream she’d had replayed in her mind as she watched him.

Jay’s voice sounded in her ear, making her jump. “You think that’s good, you should see Rhys with a sword. He’s been helping all of us with our techniques.” He rubbed his left arm and shoulder. “What a workout! Mike’s had the most training of any of us, years of it, but he says he learned more in an hour with Rhys than all of it put together. Footwork, balance, the way you keep your upper body facing forward at all times—I’m sure I’ve heard it all before, but when he says it, it sounds different. It makes sense. Especially when he knocks you on your ass.”

“He hit you?”

“We were practicing. I learned pretty quick that if I don’t keep my feet wide enough apart, my opponent can dump me. The only thing that made me feel less foolish is that Rhys took Mike down too.”

“Mike? But he’s so tall—you’re always complaining that gives him an advantage.”

“That’s what I thought. But Rhys used it against him so fast he didn’t see it coming. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“You have a new playmate to invite to your Renaissance fairs?”

“He’d sure make a helluva impression.” Jay lowered his voice then. “And that’s just the point. Morgan, this guy of yours is hyperskilled with weaponry.”