Page 1 of A Rogue in Twilight
Prologue
Scotland, the Highlands
Autumn, 1801
Buffeted by windgusts, Donal MacArthur climbed a rocky hill in moonlight, his plaid billowing and snapping against his trousered legs. He walked up the slope toward a tall black crevice in the rock, and reached up to a natural shelf, groping with his hand.
There, he had it—the bit of crystal he had tucked there years ago. Fitting the palm of his hand, it was pale blue under the moon, variegated and crystalline. Pressing it into a small niche in the rock wall, he felt the massive rock slide with a chink and a settle.
The wind whipped around him as he turned the crystal, which was a key. He pulled his plaidie close, clamped a hand to his bonnet, and waited. Though this was not the appointed time for him to come here, they would expect him this particular night.
Every seven years since his youth, he had come to this place according to the agreement. Seven years, and seven again, until seven-times-seven was reached. By then, he would be an old man. Only a year and a day had passed since his last visit, but he had a reason to return so soon.
Shealways came to greet him, welcoming him into her arms, taking him into her world. For a while, he would lose his senseof time, of himself, his home, his dear ones at Kilcrennan. Inside the hill, he would revel in the pleasures offered, golden wines and ripe fruits, sweet crystalline music, dancing like joyful madness, laughter like angels, like devils. Some did say the Fey were fallen angels. He could believe it, knowing their sweetness and their cruelty.
And then the private pleasures with her—sinful, graceful passions, her perfect body never aging, fitting exquisitely to his own, still hard and fit despite the years. That lush sensual feverishness lured him here too. The craving that pulsed through blood and soul slowed his aging. He could not resist her, nor did she deny him the powerful blend of touch, thrust, and magic.
Inevitably, she would release him and he would find himself standing outside the rock again in moonlight or at dawn: just Donal the weaver, tall and handsome though aging, blessed in his friends, fortunate in his business; Donal MacArthur, who as a young man had made a dark bargain with a queen of the fairy ilk.
The rock wall shifted and opened like a door. Beyond the glow of light within, he heard pipes and laughter. Oh, how he wanted to go inside.No, he told himself.
“Donal, dearest!” She stood before him. He did not dare say or think her name for its power. Standing inside the threshold, slim and elegant, she glowed like a moonbeam. Her garments were gossamer, her face and form beautiful. He caught his breath, feeling the lure and the lust.
“I am here,” he said, “a year a day from the last time we met, as agreed. I am here for the return of my son. We had a bargain.”
“Did we?” She laughed, silver music. Glancing over her shoulder, she beckoned. The sound of merriment, the fragrances of wine, apples, and cakes wafted toward the entrance. Donal drew breath, tempted, and stood still.
Then his son appeared, Niall, a dark-haired and beautiful young man. With him stood the one who had lured him inside, a lass of uncommon beauty, black glossy hair and silvery eyes. Sensing sadness in her, Donal hoped it was because Niall was leaving.
“Niall, my own, are you well?” he asked, careful to stay outside the entrance.
“Very well, and happier than any man ever was.”
“You must break their power over you,” Donal said, but Niall shook his head.
“The Fey have won, what’s done is done,” the queen of the hillside said. “Your son has found true love’s enchantment here, which all humans long for. He reminds me of you, my Donal.” Her eyes gleamed, and lust darkened her lips to rose. “Come.”
“Not this time,” Donal growled.
She laughed. “Oh, come inside forever, my love, with me.” She opened her arms.
It took effort, but Donal ignored her to look at his son. “Come out, Niall.”
But he shook his head. “I cannot cross the threshold now. I gave my promise and I must remain.” He pulled the black-haired beauty close. “But I am happy, Da. I would gladly stay forever with my bride.”
Donal’s heart sank. “Och, my Niall.”
The queen, his lover, reached out. “Forever would be our bliss too. Come to me, my bonny weaver.”
He loved her, he did, but he stepped back. “It is not time. I will return as I promised long ago. Every seven years.” He stepped back.
“Fine, then. Wait, the gift! I keep my promises too.” She turned as a girl appeared beside her, holding a bundle. Niall’s black-haired lover reached out, but the queen snatched it up,pulling down the blanket. “Here Donal, take this home with you.”
He saw an infant swathed in glittering fairy cloth. The small, perfect creature had dark hair and big eyes and was so lovely and impish that his heart melted then and there.
“What is this? A changeling who will not be so lovely when I reach home?”
“No changeling. She is half our kind and half yours.” His lover touched the child’s brow, and a glow like a moonbeam sparked and vanished. She offered the infant to Donal. “I have given her a gift. She will see what cannot be seen.”
