Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm) (7 page)

Outside the storm showed no signs of abating, after several days it seemed only to have intensified. The wind rattled violently against the shutters, making the room seem all the more cozy, all the closer but not in an unpleasant way. Delae was like a travel stove, her small lush body radiating heat. Dorovan found himself content for the first time in years.

Those of Talaena would think he’d stayed in the North, while those in the North thought he was safe in Talaena. No one would worry. With the weather what it was, it was likely he wouldn’t be needed. Even the Borderland creatures would be hampered by the thick slushy mud and little inclined to chance such weather.

He couldn’t stay here forever, however much he wished it though - his Enclave called to him and he had his responsibilities there.

With a sigh, in an eerie echo of his own thoughts, Delae said, “I should spend some little time with my other guests.”

Shifting, Dorovan moved within her, making her smile.

“You are most persuasive, my Lord Dorovan,” she said, amused, “but I have my duty.”

He understood duty and smiled. “So you do, friend-of-my-heart. There is always later.”

Until the storm abated… Such time was precious.

Neither spoke of it.

Delae wouldn’t think about it - instead she dropped a kiss to his beautiful mouth.

He was such a wonder to her.

If these days were all she could claim she would be grateful for them.

“Put some shoes on,” he exclaimed as she rolled from the bed to pull on a simple dress, plain but serviceable, appropriate to visiting her guests.

Laughing, she shook her head at him and darted out into the hall, shoeless as always despite the chill of the floors.

“I’ll have Petra will fetch you breakfast,” she called.

Shaking his head, he followed her instead, pulling on trews to stand in the shadows of the arch to the east hall to watch her as she made her way down the passage, peering into the open doorways.

It was hardly the first time she’d visited with them and it was as if she were a magnet for the children, they poured out of the doorways at the sight of her, or clung to them to look out at her shyly.

Bold or shy, she had a gift with them. She coaxed the timid ones out gently, laughing with the others - her flaming hair a bright beacon in the dim light.

Leaning a shoulder against the doorway, keeping to the shadows, Dorovan watched.

Few of his folk knew much of the ways of men, they kept apart from them. An Agreement had been finally been forged between Elves, Dwarves and Men, but agreements like it had been signed before and it was always men who’d broken faith with them. This one, though - brokered by Elon of Aerilann - seemed to be holding as those in the past had not, but it had been only twenty years or so as men measured such things. Longer than those other treaties, but only a fraction of time for his long-lived folk.

Delae gave space to those who needed it but they watched her as she dandled the babies on her knee, inquiring after Forman, exclaiming over the splint on the arm of the girl who’d had it broken.

When she settled on a bench the children swarmed over her and her delight in them was obvious. She answered each question as they crawled over her or hung on her, one little girl with her hands on Delae’s knee, her bright eyes staring up at her as another played with her bright hair.

Dorovan watched from the shadows, his throat tight. His own folk had few children and so prized them for the precious lives they were. It was clear Delae longed for a child and that she would be a good mother to them. He would never understand this thing of men. How could a man choose dice and wine over such joy?

A soft voice beside him said, “She’s good with them, ain’t she, my lord? She should have a dozen little ones around her knees.”

Startled, a little alarmed, Dorovan looked down to see ancient Petra standing beside him. Few approached him - he and Delae had taken pains not to make it obvious he shared her bed.

The old woman was more than tiny; bent, her aging joints were twisted, her hands gnarled. No Elf ever showed such age, though they lived generations longer than men. For her sake he would’ve been happy to have the gift of Healing, if only to ease the pain he sensed in her.

“Have no fear, my Lord Dorovan,” the old woman said, “and the title is because you deserve it for making my mistress laugh as is her nature to do.”

Dorovan’s protest died on his lips. His folk cared little for titles and used only one - first among equals.

“There’s none here that will speak of you, for her sake,” Petra said. “She could leave us. There’s a dozen households would take her for her skill with a needle alone and none fault her for going but then what would become of us?”

Her fear was clear. And her shame.

“And so she stays. For us. Whatever you can give her of joy; it’s our gift to her for staying. Poor wee girl. She should have a dozen little ones around her. And thank the gods for her, though it shames me to do it. None of us will betray you, sir.”

It was a danger to him just being here so long and Dorovan had worried about it, as much as his folk did. There were many among men who would find a solitary Elf a target for their unreasoning hate. And Delae for offering it. His people traveled carefully, keeping to the back byways where they could. Nor could Dorovan ignore the risk Delae faced in giving him shelter either.

There was more danger still in their relationship.

Even among his folk such a thing was impermissible, while to the Dwarves it was nearly anathema. Among men…?

Petra with her words offered him and his friend-of-the-heart some measure of protection. A sorely needed refuge. For both he and Delae.

Taking a breath, Petra said, “What would you for breakfast, my lord? There’s oats and then there’s oats. Perhaps an egg or two?”

With a small chuckle Dorovan said, “I think I’ll have the oats, then.”

Tiny Petra smiled. “I’ll get bowls for you both. Do you like honey my lord? We have our own bees.”

“I do,” Dorovan said.

“Then you’ll have honey with your bread.”

Her hair dusted with snow, wind-blown and wild, Delae darted in the great room doors, her feet still bare.

Shaking his head, Dorovan helped bar the door before sweeping her off her feet, cradling her in his lap as he rubbed her feet warm between his hands.

Three days later the storm finally broke and the first bright burst of sunlight speared through the clouds. Within hours the slushy snow began to melt. Delae watched it with poignant acceptance as the travelers packed their belongings into their wagon. They hadn’t been unpleasant guests. It was as it had to be.

Dorovan came up, laid a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head to look at him, Delae smiled and brushed her cheek against his hand.

It was time. He could find no more excuse to stay than Forman and his people.

“When will you go?” she asked, a heaviness lying on her heart.

In the way of friends-of-the-heart Dorovan loved her in that moment more intensely and more fiercely than he had any other, first for her generosity - that she would make it easier for him to go. As he must.

They both knew he couldn’t stay, nor could she leave. There was no place for the women of men in an Elven Enclave. His people, even as open-minded as they were, would never accept her.

Nor could she or would she leave her people and responsibilities here.

“Tonight,” Dorovan said, brushing his lips over her burnished hair, his heart aching for the loneliness to come, both his and hers. He, at least, would have his people. His voice was soft. “After moonrise. After we’ve loved again.”

 “I’d best go out and see them off then,” she said, brushing her lips across his knuckles.

She smiled and let out a breath.

“I’ll return,” he said.

Her throat tight, Delae nodded.

He watched her go, a woman of infinite grace in both body and spirit.

Looking at her, he knew her own people wouldn’t call her beautiful, there was too much strength in her face for that, but she had too much spirit for any other name. Too much strength and too much heart. Honor and courage, too…

He would call her beautiful. His people would. For she was beautiful in spirit. Dorovan saw only that.

In the sunlight her hair glowed like fire, her simple clothes a covering and nothing more to the loveliness of her body.

Delae smiled up at pretty Yana in the seat beside Pell. Behind them, his head bandaged, was Forman.

“Journey safely,” Delae said, her hand on the side of the wagon.

“I’ll send payment to you - Lady Delae - for our time here,” Forman promised.

She patted his hand. “As you can, Forman. It was only my duty to those who cross my lands or by them, as you know.”

“I do,” he said, “but you did more and for that we thank you.”

The wagons trundled out through the gates, the children calling out a chorus of goodbyes.

Delae knew she would miss them, for all the little time they’d been here and the storm had kept them under roof, they’d been some company - folk she didn’t know.

It would be quieter in days to come.

Looking up at the sky she reflected that winter had only come for a brief visit. He would be back very shortly, though, with more force and for a longer stay, but for some little time they might have a respite between. Enough for Dorovan to return to his Enclave safely.

Her breath caught at the thought.

This had only been a respite, though, and she’d known that from the moment Doravan touched her.

Calling Morlis to her, she bade him prepare the cart to go to Riverford town for supplies. If they were to have good weather, she must get supplies brought in to make up for what had been lost with a dozen extra mouths to feed. Especially those growing children. She smiled. The sound of their laughter had been sweet.

Then she turned for the great room and Dorovan. For however short a time they had left, she intended to make the most of what remained.

He waited with open arms, to welcome her back into them.

For a time he sat beside her as she worked at the tapestry, telling her of his life among his people, stories she could never share but could hold to her heart in the difficult days to come.

Among her own folk Elves were considered arrogant and impassive. She now knew different. They simply didn’t show it except among their own kind. It grieved her to know why…because those bonds, those signs of caring had been used against them. By her own folk.

She knew also that the bond between she and Dorovan was something different, something more, for all that it wasn’t the soul-bond he awaited.

In a way, she hoped it would come and soon. She would rejoice for him in finally finding it, in finding someone who could love him freely, completely, as she couldn’t. In the meantime, they were a balm for each other and it pleased her deeply that she could give it to him. She loved him - heart and soul - for all that she couldn’t have him. She knew that, understood it.

It was enough.

They ate together and then they loved together, sweetly and deeply, one last time before he left.

It was harder than Dorovan had imagined to leave – even as his heart yearned for home, for Talaena, his beloved Enclave, for his people and his place there. To leave his friend-of-the-heart alone, without the empathy of his people to console her, that gave him such comfort…

He ached as he touched her face beneath the bright moonlight.

“I will miss you, friend-of-my-heart,” he said.

Eyes bright with unshed tears, Delae smiled and pressed her cheek against his hand.

“And I you as well, friend-of-my-heart,” she said, with a smile.

Taking a breath, knowing delaying made it no easier, Dorovan swung up onto Charis’s back.

“I will return,” he said.

Delae looked up at him and shook her head.