Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

Fortenbrass stood in the open hayloft door, his chin nestled atop Jessamine’s bright head. As her fingers played with the hair on the back of his laced fingers, his arms tightened possessively about her waist. A throaty giggle shook her and she twisted her head up to nibble beneath his jaw. He grinned and falling back, pulled her with him into the straw. Turning her over upon her back he kissed her until she breathlessly begged him to stop all the while denying the request by pulling him tighter against her.

A shrill voice from outside broke into their wooing. It was Matilda, Jessamine’s maid, summoning her in for yet another fitting. Reluctantly they parted. He pulled her to her feet and helped pick random bits of straw from her tousled curls and dress. After watching her lovely face disappear down the ladder, he dropped to the straw once more and reflected on what a difference a month had made.

He’d been returned to his human form, reunited with Jessamine, and now they were to be married in four days. Jessamine, having been deprived of a family for so long, wished to be close to her father so he had agreed to her plea to reside at Swan’s Rest. The Comte had broached no objections to the match, for it seemed that during his and Torin’s absence, Derek had been enlightened by his wife as to all that had and would transpire. [Although Odile’s death had set everything to rights that had been affected by her spell, Odette’s death could not be reversed. She would remain ever present in their lives but as a spirit having form and substance only during the nighttime hours, an arrangement the Comte seemed quite content with.]

Fortenbrass tossed a handful of straw across the floor. His and Jessamine’s Happy Ever After was complete but what of Torin’s?

His eyes grew grim as he thought about the journey back to the Fifth Kingdom; it had been torturous, as Odette had warned. For the first several days Torin had been delirious and Fortenbrass had had to sit guard for two nights straight in order to foil his attempts to head back to search for the White Maiden. Nearly dead with fatigue, he’d finally been forced to tie the younger man up in order to get some sleep.

When the dementia at last subsided, Torin had retreated within. Plagued by guilt and the images that flashed through his mind, he became a silent shell. Fortenbrass had feared he’d refuse to eat but thankfully, regardless of the things his mind was avoiding, his body refused to allow food to be one of them.

Unable to penetrate his brother’s mental cocoon, Fortenbrass had decided to ignore it and carry on as though all were well, so as they hiked he recounted the story of how he’d come to be enchanted and what had occurred on the farm that fateful day while Torin was in Hubbardville. At least he told what he knew.