THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

But in his time with Eden, he had begun to feel with increasingly human emotions. He had begun to hate himself even as he smiled at Eden and prepared to complete his seduction.

“What do you fear, Eden?” he asked. “There are no longer any wolves or bears or dragons in England.”

“I… I do not know.” She attempted a smile. “It is very foolish of me.”

He cradled her chin in his hand. “You are safe with me.”

But not from me. “No harm will ever come to you in the wood, or on this land.”

“You speak as if you owned Hartsmere, though it has been in my family for generations. Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you have begun to know me, Eden.” He took her hand again. “Come.”

As if to compensate for her former hesitation, Eden let go of his hand and marched up the fell ahead of him. He caught up in time to help her over the escarpment that separated pasture from wilder ground. Then they were at the edge of the wood.

“Must we?” she asked.

He reached out with his thoughts and called to the birds: pipit and redstart, blackbird and goldfinch, wagtail and warbler, commanding songs to soothe a mortal’s fears. From near and far, meadow and forest, mere and fell, the wild music rose in a chorus as magical as it was chaotic.

Eden looked up into the trees. Bursts of bright color flashed among the leaves as birds hopped from branch to branch.

“So many!” she exclaimed. “Where did they come from?”

“This is their home. They are welcoming you to it.”

“How generous of them,” she said with a laugh. “Do you hear them speak as Donal does?”

The birds fell silent. Her question hung between them, unanswered. Eden stared at him, the beginning of comprehension in her eyes.

“Is that it?” she whispered. “You spoke to the birds. You understand Donal because you… can do what he does.” She shook her head. “Of course. The horses—the way you handled Atlas and Copper. You and my son are alike!”

If he denied it, she might never trust him again, but if he told her too much, she would guess the truth before he was ready.

“I am like him,” he admitted. “We share some of the same gifts.”

She released a long breath and gazed at the ground beneath her feet. “It explains so much. Why Donal liked you instantly, and why you have… cared for him.” She looked up. “That is why you wish to protect him.”

“And why I know what he will face in the world of men.”

“There is no other world.”

“Look around you, Eden. This is not man’s realm.”

“And you would have him live in the woods like a red Indian?”

“I wish him be happy, as you do.”

“By denying him his birthright?”

“His birthright as a bastard and misfit?”

Cold fury blazed in her face. “Never speak so of my son.”

“Eden.” He enfolded her fist in his hands. “If you will not see the wonders of Donal’s world, you cannot help him. Let me show you.”

She searched his eyes. The muscles in her face and body relaxed. A bird sang tentatively, followed by another, and a third.

“Very well,” she said, offering her hand. “Show me.”

He led her into the forest, and all the discomfort he felt in man’s world dropped away like a stag’s antlers in spring. He paused, as always, to touch each of the Old Ones, the trees that had stood undisturbed for so many mortal years.

He brought Eden to one of the greatest, a massive wych elm who stood near enough the edge of the wood to look down over the lesser trees upon the dale below.

“This is one of the queens of the forest,” he said, stroking the bark with affection. “She has seen many things men cannot dream of.”

“Do you speak to trees as well?”

Though she made a jest of the question, Hartley saw the wariness in her eyes. He took her hand and laid it, palm down, upon the lady’s trunk.

“She speaks to you, Eden. The life of the earth is in her veins, just as it is in yours if you will but listen for it.”

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