What mattered was her voice singing, her perfect clear voice with a faint touch of fuzz to it like a warm kitten. What mattered were her glance and hands and body caressing him, dancing close around him. He bathed in the light of her face, the warmth of her touch, the intoxicating fragrance of her smell.
The knife left his hand and found its sheath. She tucked it in Sean's belt and turned her back on it, and Brian wanted to cry out to warn her of her danger but she never asked. The smell of her filled his nostrils and woke fire in him and banished pain into another world.
"Don't even think about it, Sean," she sang, the words woven into her melody. "If you try for the knife it will turn in your hand and cut your liver out."
Her dance continued, close and intimate around him, as erotic through her clothing as if she danced nude. Every touch burned as though it left sparks of phosphorous behind, eating into his skin, and yet the pain of the burning felt like ecstasy.
Fiona loved him. He loved Fiona. She ran fingers through his hair and soothed away the scrapes and bruises like a mother's kiss, she ran her palms down his thighs and sealed the slash left by the dragon's claw, she gently wrapped her arms around him and the pain of his ribs vanished as if it had never been.
"Dougal, love," she whispered, "if you think you can do that without my noticing, then go ahead and try. You've had reason enough to fear me, all these years."
Brian wondered what she'd sensed, how Dougal had tried to manipulate his land and beasts to fight her. She never even looked at Sean and Dougal behind her. Such a wonderful witch, she was, to see so clearly all around her. So powerful and lovely. The strength she had, to hold three men while she enspelled a fourth. Why had he ever denied his love for her?
Her touch slipped away from Brian, and he ached with longing. Her singing told him all was well; this parting would be short before they came together in her bed. Her will was joy to him. If she wished him to wait, he'd wait forever.
"Dougal, love, you really ought to learn this. It's much more efficient than your training methods, and it will work on man or beast."
"My way works." His voice seemed as rough and crude as sharp crushed stone after the honey wine of Fiona's song.
"Ah," she whispered, with a beautiful smile, "but it will be days before you can taste your bride, and you can never truly trust her. In spite of all your skill, sometimes the falcon does not return to your fist. Of course, I know that's part of the thrill for you."
"Falcons are animals," Dougal answered. "They have small brains and little understanding. I've never lost a person yet."
"Yet," she repeated, with a pause full of comment. "Yet. You've never tried to work Blood as powerful as hers or Brian's. This is no glamour I'm casting on him. Once I'm through weaving this fabric, darling Brian will never want to escape from me. Even casting the clay from a new-dug grave between us wouldn't set him free."
Dougal shook his head. "Once you're through?"
"Oh, there are a few more rituals to observe. I thought we'd finish in private, if you don't mind. Poor Sean would have a stroke if I forced him to watch."
She turned to her twin. "Sean, love, you are bound to this forest until I give you leave. Your touch on the Power is bound. Think sweetly on me and on betrayal until we meet again."
She waved him away. He turned as stiffly as Punch retreating from the Judy puppet, jerking his steps along the path, his hand on the knife but powerless to draw it or to turn. Fiona turned her back on Sean, dismissing him with a shrug. She eyed David, still leaning helpless against the oak.
"And what do you think about the things you've seen, young human innocent? You've walked from the streets of gritty reality into the pages of myth, you've slain a dragon against all odds and been captured by the evil sorcerer, you've seen betrayal and seduction and wait now for your doom to be spoken on your head. Such a poor fate for a hero out of myth. Such a puzzle we all must seem, to your virgin mind." She laughed, a harsh sound seeming to mix contempt for all of them together, and then waved negation.
"Don't answer me. I don't really want to know." She turned to Dougal. "What do you plan to do with him?"
Dougal stared at the dead hulk of his dragon. His face grew hard. "If Brian isn't lying, I'd hate to chance the death-vengeance of a true bard. The Pendragons rarely lie. Yet this human owes me blood. My land needs renewing. As you point out, he is an innocent as our world reckons such things."
"Ah. You think of casting the Green Marriage."
"So quick you are," he smiled. "He will die but live, bringing spring again to my lands and thwarting the curse. We think alike, you and I. Almost I wish we could be friends."
"Our powers and our interests lie too far apart for that."
"Maybe. Or maybe our differences would make us better partners." Pain sat in his eyes, and longing. Dougal blinked away the weakness and gestured at Brian. "Can he understand what is happening? Will you permit him to see and hear and care? He deserves it."
"You are cruel, Dougal, love. And just. He brought the poor boy here. I'll let him care."
Green Marriage, Brian heard, echoing through his thoughts. The sacrifice of an innocent. The land would swallow David, draw him into itself, destroy him by splitting his life into atoms of feeling and understanding scattered through the root and branch of its
