Garden of Light (Dark Gardens Series Book 2) Read online

  Garden of Light

  by

  Meara Platt

  Copyright © 2017 by Meara Platt

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Author’s Note

  Sneak Peek at Garden of Shadows

  Sneak Peek at Garden of Dragons

  About the Author

  Special thanks to the members of Long Island Romance Writers for their inspiration, support, and lasting friendship.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, to my husband Neal, for his continued support and patience. To my children, Adam and Gigi, for the pride they’ve always taken in me—feeling is mutual, kids. To my terrific sisters and sister-in-law: Nora, Jackie, and Michelle. To my wonderful mother, Lily, and mother-in-law, Mickie. Special thanks to Laurel Busch, Samantha Williams, Kathryn Le Veque, Violetta Rand, and the Dragonblade team.

  Chapter One

  St. Lodore’s Vicarage

  Borrowdale, England

  May 1817

  “Sir! Are you injured?” Melody Hargreaves asked, falling to her knees beside the unresponsive stranger who lay face down in her bluebell garden. How had he ended up there? St. Lodore’s vicarage was a walk from Borrowdale and involved a short climb up a mountain path—difficult for a hiker and almost impossible for a drunkard weaving his way home after a night’s binge at a local tavern.

  He obviously wasn’t a hiker.

  Whoever he was, she wanted him out. He was ruining her lovely flowers.

  She shook him, cautiously at first and then raised his head slightly to feel his brow. It was cool to the touch. So were his hands, though the day was warm and the sun shone against a blue sky. A rare cloudless day like this always made Melody’s heart sing. Birds chirped in the surrounding willows and rabbits hopped in and out of the flower beds, completing what would have been an idyllic scene but for this stranger.

  A sudden thought struck her. Was he dead? She hadn’t really considered that he might be.

  Nor did he feel dead … not that Melody had ever seen or touched a dead man before, so she wouldn’t really know. There was an unmistakable vitality to this stranger. The way he now rested his head on his arms and the casual bend of his long legs made him appear to be merely sleeping.

  Or drunk, she decided with annoyance when he let out a snort.

  “Wake up!” Melody gave him a hearty push, intending to roll him out of the bluebells, but the grass had a slope to it and she’d pushed too hard. She scrambled to her feet and chased after him as he rolled toward the hot spring bubbling beside her garden. To her relief, she managed to grab hold of him before he fell into the water.

  “Oh, dear! Stay right there,” she muttered, easing him onto his back and beginning to worry that he had not yet moved a muscle … and he did have quite a lot of those. Kneeling beside him, she hesitated but a moment before grazing her fingers along his hand again, which no longer felt cold. Odd, he now felt invitingly warm, as though he was heating to her touch.

  She sighed and began to run her hands along his body. Not that she wanted to do it, but someone had to check him for cuts or broken bones.

  She found nothing more serious than a few bruises.

  Still worried, she poked him gently.

  His chest rose and fell slightly in response.

  “Your breathing is steady. Thank goodness. Now lie still while I dunk my handkerchief into the hot spring. Don’t be alarmed, I only mean to wipe the dirt off your face.” She dipped her handkerchief into the warm water, squeezed out the excess moisture, and carefully wiped the streaks of dirt off his cheeks and brow. “You look wretched. What happened to you? I don’t suppose you were attacked by a highwayman. You seem quite capable of defending yourself. Besides, no decent highwayman would waste his time out here. Behind the hedgerows on the road to Chester is where I’d hide if I were planning to rob a passerby.”

  She wiped dirt off his neck. “I suppose it was a tall tankard of ale that did you in … or several tall tankards. Were you drinking alone? Or with friends? Well, they aren’t very good friends if you ask me. Friends don’t abandon each other. I wouldn’t have abandoned you. Forgive me for chattering, but I’m relieved that you’re alive. I so rarely have a companion … not that you and I are friends or even acquaintances, but you’re easy to talk to, especially now that you’re … not dead.”

  The stranger opened his eyes.

  Melody shrieked and rocked backward on her heels, spared a tumble into the hot spring when he grabbed her firmly by the wrist and drew her back to his side. Flustered, she lost her balance and fell atop his hard chest. “You’re awake! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He sat up as she scrambled off him, tossing aside the wet handkerchief she’d dropped on his head when she’d fallen. His gaze locked onto hers. Melody’s breath caught in her throat, for his eyes were a vibrant blue, as cold and deep as crystal lake waters, a stunning blue that contrasted with the magnificent raven-black of his hair falling in perfect waves below his shoulders.

  He appeared only a few years older than her own twenty, but there was something in those blue depths that made him seem eternal. He had the look of a man who was used to being in command.

  What did he think of her?

  Not that it mattered.

  He was looking at her with a slight sign of confusion. “You’re not The Julia.”

  Who?

  She glanced down and noticed that he still had a light hold on her wrist.

  “I must know who you are and what you’re doing here,” he insisted.

  “I’m The Melody. Kindly let me go. You’re hurting me,” she said, though his grip was surprisingly gentle.

  “Forgive me.” He released her, but continued to gaze at her with a thoughtful but puzzled look. “The Melody? What’s that?”

  “It’s my name and I rather like it. Who’s The Julia you mentioned? Someone special to you?”

  He nodded. “I had hoped she would be my queen, that she would be The One. Without her, I cannot survive.”

  “What a lovely way to describe your sweetheart.” That he should have one came as little surprise to Melody considering his good looks. Yet, she felt an inexplicable disappointment.

  “What is the precise meaning of this word … sweetheart? I’ve heard others use it before,” he said in a perfectly refined English accent that proved he’d been speaking the language all his life. “Some men speak it softly to the woman they intend to marry, while others say it to any woman they think will lift their—”

  She frowned. “I don’t appreciate your jest at my expense.”

  “Jest? My mission is serious. I must find my queen.
”

  “Well, if her name is The Julia you won’t find her here.” Melody groaned inwardly. The man was still drunk and rambling about a local girl who must have caught his fancy.

  “She must be here. She is The One. It is written in the Prophecy.”

  Melody decided to humor him until he was on his feet and safely on his way. “Ah, I see. If you’re looking for your queen, then you must be a king. A pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. King …”

  “Cadeyrn,” he said with regal authority, rising to his feet and once more taking her hand to bring her up beside him. “I am King of the Woodlands Faeries. A pleasure to meet you, The Melody.”

  “No, it’s just … Melody. Not The Melody. Simply Melody.”

  “Melody,” he repeated in a husky rumble that sent a tingle through her body that she chose to ignore. He was drunk, and drunken sots could not be trusted.

  “Well, I must be going now,” she said, tugging at her hand to free it from his grasp. Oh, he was a handsome sot to be sure. Although it was odd that his breath held no trace of spirits nor did his clothes reek of spilled ale. In truth, he smelled rather nice. Like honeysuckle. Perhaps he wasn’t drunk after all.

  Perhaps he was merely a rogue, or a London rakehell rusticating in the Lake District.

  A well-dressed rakehell, for he was clad in a shirt of finest lawn and buff-colored pants of purest wool tucked into black boots made of soft, expensive leather. However, it was the sapphire ring he wore on his left hand that marked him as a wealthy man. Not a king but perhaps a lord.

  He didn’t appear to be violent, but one could never be sure. “My family’s expecting me to cook supper. I should have started it an hour ago. I’m late. Quite late. We’re a large family, lots of big, hungry men,” she lied, for there was no one but her mother and stepfather, Borrowdale’s new vicar. “They’re much bigger than you, though you’re awfully big.”

  Melody was of average height, yet she barely reached to his chin. “And they like to fight, for any reason and no reason. They just like fighting. They’ll come looking for me if I don’t return home soon.”

  “Then I’ll not delay you.” He nodded and released her hand.

  She felt a stab of guilt when he graciously accepted the lie she’d just told. It wasn’t even a good lie. “Borrowdale is that way,” she said, pointing eastward. “Just follow the path through the woods and keep Friar’s Crag to your right, then turn left at the river, though it’s little more than a stream really. It’s a short walk from there into town.”

  “I know. I’ve lived here a long time.”

  “You have?”

  He folded his arms across his chest and arched an eyebrow. “But you’re new to the area.”

  She nodded, now realizing he was in complete control of his senses and must have been having a little sport at her expense. King, indeed! It wasn’t very nice of him to scare her that way. She supposed it was some sort of odd welcome ritual concocted by the local gentry. “My stepfather, Thomas Axwell, is the new vicar. Have you met him?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been … away and just returned.”

  “He and my mother have been here for several months now. I arrived only a week ago and haven’t had the chance to meet the local parishioners. Otherwise, I might have recognized you and seen through your little game. Will you be joining us at services this Sunday?”

  “Perhaps.” He bent and scooped a handful of bluebells out of her garden. “You’d best be on your way. Here are your bluebells. You did come here to pick them, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  Had she told him? She didn’t recall mentioning it. “Farewell, Your Majesty. I hope you find your One.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Indeed, I must. The survival of my realm depends on it.”

  She smiled, willing to go along with his silly game for as long as he meant to keep it going. “Indeed, a weighty problem. Let me know if I can be of any help.”

  “I don’t see how you can be, unless you’re able to fight dragons.”

  She pretended to mull the notion. “Fire-breathing or just your ordinary sort of dragon?”

  “Both.”

  “Well, of course I can. Can’t you?”

  “Not nearly as well as I’d like,” he said, now eyeing her with admiration.

  Her body warmed and began to tingle, the feeling quite pleasant, which was ridiculous since she didn’t know this gentleman and their conversation was just about the oddest she’d ever had with anyone. “It isn’t hard to do.”

  “How is it that you battle them with ease? Will you teach me?”

  “I don’t think so. Why don’t you ask your precious One?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I will when I find her. In the meanwhile, would you teach—”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t right now. I have other things to do.”

  “What can be more important than training a king to defeat dragons?”

  She tipped her head upward to meet his puzzled gaze. “Baking, for one. I’m making apple pie.”

  *

  Cadeyrn remained beside the bluebell garden’s hot spring, watching Melody as she walked away from him and disappeared into the vicarage. These humans were talkative creatures, to be sure. Melody in particular. He hadn’t understood most of what she’d said, especially that bit of nonsense about the hungry, fighting men in her family. These men didn’t exist, so why did she feel compelled to say they did? Perhaps to impress him. No matter, it wasn’t important.

  Of importance was Melody’s ability to fight dragons, for most humans couldn’t. That she could had to be significant. Also significant was her ability to see him. She’d noticed him at once as he rested in the bluebell garden after spending a difficult night fighting Lord Brihann’s demons. He had meant to recover from battle, not make contact with Melody. Yet there she was, chattering away in that soft, lilting voice of hers as though she encountered faerie kings every day. “Curious,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

  Also curious was her ability to touch him and feel no pain. To touch a faerie often meant death to a human, for faerie skin was icy to the human touch and had the power to freeze a human heart. Melody, however, had run her hands up and down his entire body without the slightest ill effect. That was … most confusing. Julia Marsden, the young woman who had lived at the vicarage before Melody, had almost died at his hand. It was his fault—he understood that now—but he’d been so certain at the time that she was destined to be his queen.

  He’d learned his lesson and would take greater care with Melody.

  Was she part Fae?

  He dismissed the possibility, for there was a warmth to Melody’s dark green eyes and a vibrance to her brown hair that marked her as human. Her hair wasn’t a pure brown, but more of a chestnut color, an earthy, reddish brown that blazed under the sun’s glow. Fae hair was much finer, not as thick, and rarely curled at the ends as hers did.

  “Your Majesty, what’s your decision?” the eldest of his counselors asked, reminding him that all twelve had come running to his rescue, swords drawn, the moment the girl who called herself Melody had touched him. He’d held them back with a silent command, for she was no demon and certainly no danger to him.

  However, not all was as it should be. She’d seen him, but had not noticed the other Fae surrounding the two of them. What did that signify?

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet, Fiergrin. I need more time.”

  “We haven’t any time. Lord Brihann is on the march and his armies will be upon us by the rise of the next full moon. Until now, we’ve been fighting his advance guard, but they are mere scouts and spies. We’ll have no chance against his demon forces once they’re fully mustered, all Dragon Lords united under one banner, unless we find The One named in the Prophecy. Do you believe it is this girl, Melody? Is she your queen or not?”

  Cadeyrn turned to face his Fae council. Comprising the wisest among his subjects, these elders had served him faithfully over the centuries an
d now depended on him to save their Woodlands realm. The Garden faeries, Lake faeries, even the English prince regent had sent emissaries to him, pleading for his help, for they all believed the survival of their realms rested in his hands. “You demand an answer I cannot yet give.”

  “But the Prophecy—”

  “Fiergrin! It is but a riddle written in stone thousands of years ago. A useless riddle that won’t save us. Only we can save ourselves … and only if we learn the way of the humans.”

  “You dare refer to the sacred Stone of Draloch as useless!” Ygraine, eldest female on his council, stepped forward. By the nods of the others, Cadeyrn saw that she spoke for all of them. “The stone is the key to our salvation, the words written upon it our guiding light. Lord Brihann is desperate to stop us before we solve that useless riddle. He knows it will give us the power to destroy him.”

  “And if we don’t destroy him,” Fiergrin added, his tone somber, “we’ll be forced to join him, forced to lose our fragile souls to the darkness as he did long ago.”

  “I know. You needn’t remind me of the peril.”

  “Well?” Ygraine stepped close and put a hand on his shoulder, surprising Cadeyrn. How long had it been since any of the Fae had touched each other in that purposeless, human way? Ygraine must have reached back thousands of years for that long ago memory. The girl called Melody had touched him as well, running her hands everywhere on his body … well, almost everywhere.

  Cadeyrn turned to stare at the vicarage. “Give me one more moon rise. Then you’ll have your answer.”

  Chapter Two

  Though Cadeyrn was the Woodlands king, he did not rule over the humans who populated the towns within his realm except for the unfortunate few who’d strayed to the forbidden places and could not be permitted to return. The treaty between humans and Fae had been signed over two thousand years ago, and though humans could not stop squabbling among themselves, they’d managed to live in peace with the Fae. Relations had always been amicable and Cadeyrn hoped to keep it that way.