Some Enchanted Waltz Read Online Free PDF Page A

been burned, as if the palms were held over a fire.   
    His sister’s nurse entered the room, still dressed in her nightclothes and her cap. He explained the girl’s injuries, including her inability to recall her family name. Cora had been in service to the Dillon family since he was a babe. He trusted this woman like a sainted grandmother.
    Cora bent over the girl. She opened his woolen cloak and began to remove her drenched clothing. The muddy white chemise was removed, revealing an odd corset-type of garment binding her breasts. It was a vivid pink color and had no lacings or strings to unfasten it as far as he could tell. It was a very curious garment, as it pushed her breasts up higher, thrusting them at the viewer in a provocative manner that was most arousing. He rose up on his heels and moaned at the sight of those lush, creamy swells.
    The nurse gave him a disdainful look meant to shame him for ogling the injured woman. He ignored it and continued to watch her undress her charge. Cora turned the petite creature over onto her side so she could figure out how to remove the odd bindings. “Ach, such a delicate lass. What will ye do if we are unable to return her to her people? Oh, saints preserve us—what are these odd markings?”
    He came to Cora’s side. He tilted his head and gazed curiously at the intricate black swirling design on her skin that covered her shoulder blades. He leaned close and traced the curving lines with a light forefinger, frowned, then stepped back to gain a better understanding of the odd etching. After a moment, it came to him. It was a tattoo. He had heard of such things in people from the Far East. “These are wings.” He insisted, gesturing to the asymmetrical pattern. “Step back, look at the whole design.”
    Cora did as he said. “Well, I’ll be! But are they angel or fey?” Cora asked, her eyes taking on a worried cast. “Not feathers. Too fine and airy to be angel wings, my lord.”
    “Then fey it is.” He said playfully, amused by his assessment. A chill went though him as he suddenly remembered the pledge he made long ago.
    “ Will you open Glengarra’s gates to shelter those of our race that lose their way in the land of mortals?” His enchanted playmates had asked him in the secret glen.
    “I will.”  He replied with conviction. He’d been a child, yet he had pledged his fealty with the soul of a warrior to the elemental spirits who ruled Ireland.
    “One day, you may be called upon to protect one of our own from the snares of mortal men.”   His fey companions replied.
    As he gazed down at the dainty beauty on the bed an unshakable conviction enveloped him. She was of the fey race. She had a heart shaped face, finely arched auburn brows, red hair and large emerald eyes hidden beneath a fringe of dark lashes.
    It was true. This delicate waif had lost her way in the storm; an innocent sprite caught up in the snares of evil men, just as they told him years ago.  
    The Tuath an Danaan had answered his plea. They sent him a fairy bride.
     

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
    The village of Glengarriff was nestled comfortably below the Cahir Mountains. The town was on the Bay of Bantry at the beginning the Beara Peninsula and fell under the jurisdiction of Dillon lands. Small fishing boats dotted the coastline. The men of the area were dragging the waters with their nets, searching for bodies.
    Lord Dillon pulled his cloak about him to block out the stinging winds as he stood on the shore of Bantry Bay. He rode out at dawn when the news was brought to him of an incoming vessel broken apart on the rocks during last night’s storm.
    Mick Gilamuir was there, as was Rory and Shamus, all his men, dressed as farmers, sheep herders, fisherman and squires, working alongside unwary villagers they protected.
    “A far as we can tell, no one survived.”  Harlan Burke, the Sheriff of the tiny hamlet of Glengarriff stood beside Lord Dillon on the beach, assuming an