Lust by Charlotte Featherstone Page B

faeries will take ye and carry ye off and we’ll never see ’ide nor ’air of ye again.”
    A little tremor fluttered in her stomach as she recalled that day, saw her own chubby little fist grasping the latch.She had been six and adventuresome—full of harmless mischief, her father had always said. The assistant, whose name Chastity could not quite recall, had been a superstitious young lady. But then, the country folk from the north typically were. Alas, however, those from Glastonbury could hardly be called any different—for she believed in the fey, too.
    â€œDo you believe in faeries?” she remembered asking the young woman as she pulled Chastity away from the gate.
    â€œAye, I do. And you should, too.”
    â€œAre faeries good?”
    â€œNo, miss. Not all. Some faeries… Well, some faeries are full of mischief and darkness.”
    â€œDarkness?” Chastity had asked, perplexed. The young woman had flushed then, and checked over her shoulder to locate the cook, who was busily snipping away at a sprig of rosemary.
    â€œAye, darkness. But the kind of dark that ye dunna need to know about yet. But rest assured, the Dark Faeries, they will corrupt you they will, by tempting you with all sorts of wicked delights.”
    Chastity in her innocence hadn’t known what the servant meant by that, but now she did. She believed in faeries, and knew that there were beautiful, sensual fey out there that could tempt even a nun to commit any kind of sin.
    And tonight, in the darkening of the twilight sky, she was no longer six. And there was no one to warn her away from the gate and remind her that not all faerieswere good and benevolent. Whatever lay beyond this garden gate was far more powerful than a memory from her childhood, for it pulled her forth, making her forget that it was growing dark and she should be inside.
    Dropping the bouquet of lilies, Chastity used both hands to tug at the latch, which seemed to be rusted shut. But that was impossible! The footprints had led her there. In fact, they seemed to disappear beneath the gate. Someone had been in the garden, and that someone had opened this very gate and stepped through.
    Chastity tugged one last time. With a groan the ancient hinges gave way, allowing her to open the gate far enough to slide through sideways. As she was squeezing through the opening, her gown caught on a rusty nail, which snagged the hem and tore through her stocking, also tearing at the skin of her ankle.
    But Chastity barely felt any pain. She could only look around in awe at the magical land before her. A forest. An enchanted forest, it seemed, for everything was beyond beautiful—and glistening. She had never seen anything so lovely. And the scents… She inhaled deeply, discerning a mixture of florals and heavy spice. The perfumed air was a dichotomy of light fragrance and heavy, drugging aromas.
    Standing by a copse of ancient oaks and rowan trees was a dark-haired man atop a black horse. Beside him, a large white hound with black eyes stared back at her, as if he and his master had been awaiting her arrival.
    A gust of wind came up, making her skirts billow around her feet. The wind carried the scent of bloodthat she felt seeping into her shoe over to the beast and the man. The animal whimpered and lowered to his haunches, as if frenzied by the metallic tang of blood. The man’s blue eyes suddenly darkened with a hunger that frightened her.
    She turned to run, every instinct warned her to, but the gate suddenly slammed closed, pushing her all the way through and into the forest that now surrounded her. The dog whimpered again, and slowly Chastity turned, her back pressed against the gate as she watched the animal’s ears fall flat against its large head. Mentally she prepared herself for the attack, for the dog was now whimpering a series of low howls, its black eyes fixed on the small maroon puddle at her foot.
    The man nudged his