Storm Warrior

forth, watching, watching…It was like having a lion as an escort, decided Morgan. Fortified by Fred’s giant presence, she elected to do a quick sweep of the yard around the buildings, just in case. Behind the barn, she was stopped in her tracks—literally. Fred stood sideways, blocking her in the same way she’d seen seeing-eye dogs use their bodies to prevent their blind owners from making a dangerous misstep. He looked up at her, then looked away to growl at the storm approaching from the north. And gazed back at her again. Morgan frowned as she tried to make sense of the dog’s actions. Clearly he was trying to communicate something. Was it the storm that had been bothering him all along? If so, this was strange behavior. Most dogs bothered by thunder and lightning hid under the bed or in the basement—they didn’t venture outside to deliberately challenge it. But then she thought about the great black dog in Wales that had seemingly followed the tour bus wherever it went. Come to think of it, that dog—Rhyswr—had sat outside in a tremendous storm without so much as a tremble. Were all mastiffs a little on the odd side?

“Okay, storm bad, I get it.” And the dog might be right. The night was already dark due to the hidden moon, but the rapidly approaching clouds seemed blacker than black. Near-continuous lightning illumed the roiling mass with strange colors. She wasn’t usually afraid of storms, but something in the pit of her stomach was repelled by this one. Quickly, Morgan headed for the back door of the barn with Fred in tow. Thankfully the big dog didn’t try to go through the small entrance at the same time, but followed close behind her. She closed the door after him and stood for a few minutes until her eyes adjusted. The yard light’s pale, greenish rays barely penetrated the windows. Beside her, Fred was alert, but calm and quiet. Morgan was relieved by that—she hadn’t even thought of what might happen if he barked and startled Lucy. Finally she could see well enough to make her way to the mare’s box stall. It was empty.

Morgan went from stall to stall, expecting that Rhys had simply moved the horse to another spot. Dim as it was, it wouldn’t be possible to hide the pale-coated mare. The horse simply wasn’t in the stable anywhere.

“Rhys!” she yelled. “Rhys, where are you?” She ran to the stacked bales where the man had made his bed. A part of her reacted viscerally to the spot where passion had once rocked them both and bonded them. The rest of her was all too furious that he was sleeping peacefully under the quilts while her patient was MIA. She lunged forward to shake him awake—

Powerful arms grabbed her from behind. A hand the size of her whole face covered her mouth before she could yell for Fred, and she was yanked back against a hard, muscled body. She did her best to fight and managed to get in a couple of solid elbow jabs before his arms clamped down so hard her upper body could no longer move. She settled for kicking backward at her assailant’s shins and trying to get a leg between his and trip him as she was dragged inside the small dark tack room. Where was her dog? Why wasn’t he chewing this guy’s ass off?

“Be calm,” ordered a familiar voice in her ear. “You’ve no reason to fear, anwylyd. But you must be quiet. Gods alive, why are you here at this time?”

He released her and she whirled, slapping for the light switch on the wall. The forty-watt bulb was like high noon in the tiny windowless room, and she had to squint to focus. She didn’t need to see Rhys to yell at him, however. “Where is Lucy? And what have you done to my dog? And who the hell is that in your bed?”

In a heartbeat, he had his hand over her mouth again, and she was backed against the wall. “Your dog is unharmed, and there’s naught but straw and clothes in my bed made to look like me.” He paused and seemed to take a deep breath. “You must keep your voice low. The Fair Ones are coming, and there may be advance guards. You would be in danger if they learn of your presence here with me.”

She stilled and he removed his hand. “The Tylwyth Teg are coming here?” she whispered.

“Aye. They’ve taken the horse, and fae law says they must return her by dawn.” He looked expectant, and his palm was open and at the ready, no doubt anticipating that he would have to muffle a flurry of angry protests.

Instead she was quiet for a long moment. “What can we do?” she asked finally.

The simple question caught him off guard. Wonder and hope crossed his features even as the harsh light made his face look just as battle hardened as he claimed to be. Morgan looked down and saw the sheathed sword and the dagger in his belt. “You’re going to fight them, aren’t you?”

He recovered himself. “Aye, I am. But not with you here. Go back to the house and stay there. The fae cannot cross the threshold of a dwelling without an invitation. You’ll be safe.”

“And you’ll be out here, one against how many?” She gestured at his sword. “Is this all you have to defend yourself with?”

“Iron is the only thing that harms them.”

She nodded, remembering Nainie’s stories. Iron was like kryptonite to the Fair Ones. But you had to get close enough to use it. “I know you’re amazing with those weapons, but even you can’t do this by yourself.”

“He’s not alone, good lady,” said a voice behind her. Morgan jumped sideways and was caught by Rhys’s muscled arm as she looked down in amazement. “And we’ve more than a few tricks up our sleeves.”

A small character barely taller than her knees waved at her. Bright-blue eyes looked out from under a brighter-blue baseball cap. Wild brown braids of hair escaped from the hat, tangled with oak leaves. A thick layer of leaves sheathed the stocky little body, and with skin that looked like tree bark, the thin arms and legs bore a strange resemblance to the branches of saplings. Beside him, Fred lay on the floor snoring. The little man winked at her. “Yer fine great dog is not harmed.”

She knelt in wonder, some unknown instinct leading her to make herself of equal height. It was more than simply trying not to frighten the amazing creature. Her brain whirled with numberless thoughts and images, all unintelligible save for Nainie’s long-ago words: There are many things all around us that are old and powerful…They’re not to be feared but to be respected, and it’s long been a gift in our family to know them.

“Are you—are you of the Tylwyth Teg?” she asked. Her voice sounded faint, even to her, and she drew back against Rhys’s legs as the little creature frowned.

Rhys knelt at once and put a reassuring arm around her. “No, anwylyd, Ranyon is fae but he’s an ellyll. The Fair Ones are his enemies too, and he is my friend.”

“Aye. And I’ve thrown my lot in with his,” Ranyon said, extending a hand to her.

She grasped the long twiggy fingers gently, surprised to find they were warm. “I’m Morgan. Leo spoke of you. And I’m throwing my lot in here too,” she declared. The words had barely left her lips before she was seized by the shoulders and lifted bodily to her feet—and then some. She was standing on empty air as she stared eye to eye with Rhys. “Put me down!”

“Go to the house at once. I cannot fight them if you’re not safe.” He gave her a shake before setting her on the ground. “They will kill you or take you for their own.”

“And they won’t kill you? Won’t take you back or turn you into a dog again? Listen, mister, you don’t tell me what to do. If you think I’m just going to hide in the house while you’re out here—”

Thunder drowned out the rest of her words, rending the air and shaking the floor beneath her. Rhys held her tightly in his powerful arms, and still the vibrations rocked her. When the noise died away, Morgan’s ears were ringing hard enough to hurt.

The ellyll cursed soundly. “They’re coming,” he said. Fred, now wide awake, shook himself.

“Wait a minute, they did that?” asked Morgan, trying to wriggle free of Rhys’s arms.

He released her. “Aye. The Tylwyth Teg are riding the storm.”

Terrifying illustrations from some of the old Welsh storybooks flashed into Morgan’s mind. Rhys grasped her by the wrist and cautiously opened the tack room door. “Come on,” he said, then jogged through the barn to its front door with her in tow. Ranyon and Fred followed close behind.

Rhys slid the door open a crack, and they studied the yard between the barn and the house. Nothing moved. No rain had fallen yet, and the air seemed charged with expectancy. Morgan made a mental note to call an electrician to change the yard light fixture as soon as possible—its weak light seemed more greenish than ever, giving the whole area a ghostly feel. Like she needed to feel more frightened than she already did.

Ranyon slipped a strange object into her hand. “If you have this, they cannot see you. ’Tis a charm and a good one.”