The Ballad of Rosamunde by Claire Delacroix Read Free Book Online Page A

came.
    A Beltane fire, orange and hot
    My love, my love, release me not.’”

    *

    In the blink of an eye, Rosamunde became a
fire in his embrace. The brilliant light of the flames nearly
blinded Padraig and surprise almost loosened his grip.
    He cried out and tightened his grasp upon
her. The fire burned his skin, the flames licking at his flesh. He
closed his eyes to the sight of his own body burning, to the smell
of his destruction. He held fast to the column of flame, even as he
feared he could not have the strength to endure against the
fey.
    Padraig thought of the way Rosamunde’s hair
looked in the sunlight.
    He recalled her bold stance on the ship as
they sailed to adventure. He thought of the light in her eyes when
first they had met. He thought of her determination, even when the
spriggan Darg had stolen her charts and trapped the ship in a
calm.
    He recalled her pride in her nieces and her
joy in seeing them well wed. He thought of her passion and her
pride and he fortified himself with the truth of why he loved this
woman with all his heart. Padraig squeezed his eyes shut as the
pain built to a crescendo.
    He could not lose his love.
    He recited the Paternoster , on
impulse, recalling his mother’s counsel. Tears stung his cheeks as
he said the familiar prayer. Our father…
    The horse halted abruptly, reared, then it
ducked its head. Padraig was thrown over its neck and gasped aloud
when he landed in the lake with a splash.
    He sank low, still holding fast to
Rosamunde, and the cold dark water of the lake embraced him. He
felt the flame in his embrace turn to a woman again.
    A naked woman.
    A naked woman he loved more than life
itself.
    And Padraig knew he had triumphed. They
broke the surface together, Rosamunde’s smile enough to light
Padraig’s nights forevermore.
    When they might have spoken each to the
other, a man cleared his throat at close proximity.
    Finvarra stood on the shore, holding the
bridle of the stamping black stallion. “And so the contest goes to
you,” the High King of the Faerie said. He stroked the horse’s nose
with affection and the beast nuzzled him. Finvarra smiled and his
eyes glinted. “I shall take this horse into my care, seeing as it
was once stolen from us and is rightfully returned.”
    Padraig understood why the horse had not
been startled by the fey, why it had been so at ease joining the
host. Recognition was possibly why it had been allowed to join the
company in the first place.
    He understood then why it had thrown him and
saved Rosamunde. Padraig fancied that the horse had intended to
reward him for bringing it back to Finvarra.
    “You are a man of more cunning than most.”
Finvarra smiled. “I should have liked to have played chess with
you.”
    “With respect, my lord, I have little to my
name and nothing I would choose to lose.” Padraig kept his arm
around Rosamunde, noting how the king’s gaze flicked between the
two of them.
    “Should his devotion falter,” Finvarra said
to Rosamunde. “You are always welcome at my court.”
    “I thank you, my lord, and thank you also
for your hospitality,” Rosamunde said with a bow.
    “You and your fellows will always find
welcome at our home,” Padraig added with a bow of his own.
    Finvarra smiled, his gaze trailing to his
wife, who remained upon her steed and at a distance. “It is no
crime to covet a beauteous gem,” he said softly, “but a rare
triumph to possess one. I salute you, Padraig Deane. May your love
never be tarnished.”
    With that Finvarra turned and led the
prancing horse back to the company. Padraig felt the chill of the
night air on his wet skin as he stood with Rosamunde fast at his
side, but he could not tear his gaze away from the departing
company. He doubted he would ever see them again. They rode forth,
passing over the hills like a vision, leaving only the echo of
their silvery laughter behind.
    And Rosamunde.
    “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at
him.
    “You are welcome. I