Page 41 of Darro

As he reached the fray, Darro shouted the order for the first rank to engage and the second to hold fast. In that moment he appreciated his bulk, for he could use his body to knock down two and three of the attackers at a time. For a moment all his thoughts blanked as he methodically hobbled the creatures, cutting at their legs and necks and then shifting away as the archers shot flaming arrows down into the bodies. The gardens became littered with the unnatural beings, and soon a strange stink filled the air.

Slaying the enchanted beings sickened him even more than their smell. At first he thought the stench the same as the rot he’d smelled from the old one on the other side of the barrier. After a time he realized the creatures burning gave off an odor of something boggy and burnt, as if someone had set peatland alight. When he saw Alec drop down with dozens of men from the top of the inner wall he fought his way to the war master.

“Do you smell that?” he shouted over the din.

Alec nodded. “They’re no flesh. ’Tis different than the last ones that stank of burnt meat.” He reached down into the chest of the attacker he’d just cut down and wrenched out a handful of blurry, sparkling leaves. They turned black in his fist and then liquid, spilling onto the ground to disappear.

“Wretched creatures.” Darro turned to fend off a second attacker and thrust it face-first into the ground, cleaving its head from its neck. Straddling it, he yanked up its tunic, and saw its back was covered with blurry ferns. “They look like someone built them from the forest illusion.”

“From the outer wall we saw large blank spots out in the trees,” the war master told him. “’Tis as if the enchantment comes apart whenever they attack us. Watch your back, brother.” He rushed off to deal with a pair of the creatures that were rushing toward an arch.

Darro fought on, but soon realized another threat had emerged from the flaming arrows being shot into the creatures. While the attackers melted, the plants around them continued to burn. Soon so many fires blazed, they threatened to set the entire inner bailey alight. That was when a dozen patrollers emerged from the keepe with sand buckets to extinguish the flames.

“Why do they waste time putting out the fires?” he heard one defender complain. “Whatever they destroy shall be restored at dawn.”

“’Tis to protect the laird’s brother,” his companion said. “See how all of the fire burns toward Chieftain Darro? If no’ quenched the flames shall soon engulf him.”

He wanted to cringe at the reminder of his mortal weakness, but decided instead to use it to aid the men. Trotting through the fires, he drew the flames after him to the packed dirt grounds of the lists, where they blazed for a few moments before wafting out. He turned to go back to assure all the attackers had been dispatched when a bucket of cold water doused him.

“You’re on fire,” Esme said, tossing aside the bucket before she slapped at his tunic, which was still smoldering.

He caught her hands. “I’m well, lass.”

“You’re burned, you idiot man. Take this off now.” As he did, she circled around him and slapped at the back of his trews. “I leave you for a few minutes and you do something so ridiculous. You know fire wants to kill you, all fire, you stupid, stupid man. I should lock you up for a month.”

She went on at length in her own language as she inspected him from all sides and then grabbed the burnt remains of his tunic from his hand. She made a strange sound before she hurled it aside, and then she moved closer and touched a burn on his chest. It should have been painful, but the way her fingertips glided over the wound seemed to him as the gentlest, sweetest salve.

The air around them became filled with a strange glittering red light, which seemed to burst into dust before it faded away.

“I must go and assure we slew all the creatures,” he told her.

“I know. So go.” When he started to do just that Esme grabbed his arm. “Rory said I could break the spell making you afraid of me.” She touched the dent in his bottom lip with her fingertip. “So kiss me before you go. Kiss me before you do anything else. Kiss me before I cry all over my–”

Darro snatched her off her feet and silenced her with his mouth, taking possession of hers. She was all fire and tears and sweetness, and so generous he wondered why he had ever once feared her. She tasted as he’d imagined but a hundred times more potent. It was the same as being buried under a mountain of sweet gale. He would never have to touch whiskey again if he could kiss her like this, deep and slow, and she yielded to him so utterly, as if she had been waiting all her life to do such.

“Yes, please, yes,” Esme whispered against his mouth.

Everything about her enchanted and dismayed him. She was hot and relentless, like the flames that forever chased him, but somehow she had crawled inside his flesh and danced through his veins, as wicked as every notion in his head now. The long, passionate kiss was not enough—it never would be. Yet when he took his mouth from hers and looked into her eyes, he saw the same delight she’d shown when she’d found her pleasure in his arms.

The fear he had carried inside him no longer twisted or chilled him. Esme had broken the spell.

“Go and be sure,” she told him, her voice a husky purr, her eyes glittering like dark stars. “Then come back to me. I’ll be waiting.”

Darro brushed his lips across her brow before he released her and went.