It was her turn to shrug her response.
“That’s it then. Do that same again. Call on yer queen. Tell her to send you back to where you came from. Tell her there’s no a place for you here and none to watch over you so she must return you to yer home.”
Dani cleared her throat, stalling, wondering what on earth she could possibly say. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t Samhain, so the curtain between the worlds was thick and firmly closed. And, even if the queen did somehow hear her, it still wouldn’t matter.
Elesyria had been clear on the subject. The Goddess herself had decided this was where Dani belonged. And, novice though she might be at dealing with Faeries, she was pretty sure a Goddess outranked a queen.
Still, if it made him feel any better about this . . .
“Can you hear me, Your Highness? You win. You sure showed me.” A tight, nervous twitter of laughter bubbled up from her throat. “So . . . you can send me home now. Okay?”
As silly as she’d felt standing alone in her little room calling on the Faeries, it was nothing compared to how preposterous she felt right now with Malcolm MacDowylt as her audience.
They waited, silence surrounding them in the circle, as if even the creatures of air and land held their breaths right along with them.
After several minutes, Malcolm broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Do it again. Perhaps she dinna hear you. Make sure to mention her mistake in putting you somewhere you dinna belong.”
As if telling the Faerie Queen she’d made a mistake was a smart thing? Maybe Malcolm didn’t know Faeries as well as he claimed.
Dani reined in the impulse to share that thought with Malcolm. As miserable as she was out here in the cold, standing around arguing would only delay things more.
“Send me back, please,” she called out to the forest. “To where I belong.” Not that where she’d come from had been where she belonged.
Again they waited, staring at one another in silence.
“Try something else.”
“Like what?” It wasn’t as if she had some magical bag of tricks up her sleeve. “I don’t know anything else to do. That’s what I did before. I spoke to her. Out loud, just like now. And then all these little lights started flying around the room and that’s all I remember.”
Again they stared at one another across the clearing for fully a minute.
“If that’s all you did then, why do you suppose it’s no working this time?”
“Oh, let’s see.” She held up her hand, ticking off reasons on her fingers. “Maybe because it’s not Samhain, so she can’t hear me? Or because it was supposedly the Goddess who sent me here, not the queen? Or, like Elesyria said, because I’m supposed to be here?” Running out of reasons before she ran out of fingers, she crossed her arms in front of her. “I don’t know. You tell me, since you seem to think you know everything. Elesyria said it wouldn’t work. But you wouldn’t listen.”
What else could she say? It wasn’t going to work and they both should know it at this point. Only he seemed determined to keep at this exercise in futility, no matter how miserable it was out here, all because he wanted to be rid of her. That much was clear, and though she hated to admit it, even to herself, the knowledge stung. After a lifetime of not feeling like she belonged anywhere and years of waiting for the Faeries to send her where she did belong, not being wanted when she got there just plain hurt.
She pulled the woolen tighter around her, shivering for good measure. Not that she needed to pretend that one. It was so cold she was simply grateful it wasn’t snowing.
As if on cue, the first flake fluttered into the clearing, followed by a host of others.
“Perfect,” she groaned. “Just freaking perfect.”
Malcolm lifted a hand, pressing his fingers against the upper bridge of his nose, like a man with a vicious headache. She’d seen him do the same before and doubted he was even aware of telegraphing his frustration. When he dropped his hand, it was to gather up her horse’s reins and start toward the spot where she stood.
“Yer right. An act of pure foolishness on my part, my lady. I apologize for yer discomfort and for wasting yer time. It’s best we get you mounted and out of this weather.”
As he drew close, she snatched the reins from his hand, fitting her foot into the stirrup to pull herself up onto her horse’s back. She lifted her skirts, tossing them over her arm, and pushed up into her seat, ignoring his offer of help.
Decorum be damned. The last thing she needed was his hands on her again. She was cold and hungry and frustrated beyond belief to be trapped in a place where she wasn’t wanted. His touch could well be enough to send her over the edge into a rare crying jag, and that was simply not happening.
Not in front of him.
With a tug to adjust her woolen, she kicked her horse and started off, stopping only when she heard him clearing his throat behind her.
“What?” she demanded, forcing a level of irritation in her response to hide the humiliating threat of tears.
