Page 2 of Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie's Curse
Tamsyn stifled a gasp of panic. Tried to think over the sudden, fearful racing of her heart. Grasping a branch for stability, she began to ease her way backwards, but another twig snagged her bodice, and another caught hersleeve.
Her fingers shook. The branch at her sleeve bent as she tried to free herself, then let go with a snap that rustled the rest of the tree—and sounded loud in thequiet.
The boar started and looked overather.
Fear-laced fog invaded her brain. Tamsyn’s breath rasped as panic won. She struggled and wriggled and only succeeded in getting herself more entangled. Were the branches alive? Multiplying? She slapped and tugged and fought and at last, desperate as the boar straightened, still staring at her, she yanked backwards, ignoring the ominous sound of rippingfabric.
Something struck the back of her legs. The log? Another branch? She didn’t know. She only knew she was falling backward, her hands milling wildly and flowers flyingeverywhere.
Her bottom hit the log. Her legs flew up. Before she could catch a breath she’d rolled off of it and into the water with asplash.
Itwasn’tdeep.
Itwascold.
She sat up, coughing, crying, wiping her eyes and trying to see if the wild beast wasuponher.
Itwasgone.
She blinked. Checked again. The boar was gone and the meadowempty.
But her feet sat high on the bank and her bottom low in the stream. Her skirts were ripped, as was her bodice. A sea pink stuck in her hair and hung in her face. One of the lace-edged handkerchiefs spilled from her front and the other dangled from a treeabove.
And laughter, deep, loud and heart-felt, echoed allaround.
Mortification speared her. She wanted to sink into the ground. She wanted to slap the cad who laughed instead of coming toheraide.
Instead, heart breaking, she clutched her bodice close, climbed to her feet and fled back along the path to the gardens and the waiting, gloomyCastle.
* * *
How long hadit been since he’dlaughed?
A hundred years, atleast.
But Tuft, ancient Pixie and caretaker of this forest, laughed now. A good, long, sidesplitting laugh too—the kind that comes up from your toes, rises and rips out into the world like anexplosion.
An apt comparison. For a Pixie’s laugh is a magical thing. A young Pixie’s giggle can send a flower bursting into bloom. A mature Pixie’s chuckle can ripen all of the apples onatree.
But Tuft’s laugh? It was of another caliberaltogether.
Because of his age. Because of his vast experience with the ancient power of the earth. And yes, because of the rarity of it, too—Tuft’s laugh erupted out of him and across the forest on a wave of joyfulmagic.
A carpet of bluebells appeared in the meadow in the wake of the wave and nearby currant bushes burst forth with a late crop that would last until the first snow. The mass of trampled wildflowers repaired itself. The wave caught Tamsyn and cleared her few adolescent blemishes—permanently. It traveled just as swiftly behind them and found Gryff as he made his way near, and erased the bruise on his shin he’d got helping a tenant raise a plow from aditch.
The magic that poured from Tuft healed the ailing boar that had come to him for help and been frightened off. It cleared the burn across its mouth and jaw that had come from a stream of mineral heavy, acidic water leaching from anearbymine.
Most importantly, it tempered, tamed and transformed the heavy elements in the mine leak, accomplishing in an instant what would have been the work of a hundred years—and saving a multitude of animals from similarsuffering.
The girl was long gone by the time Tuft finished laughing. He drew a deep breath as the small figure of young Master Paul from the Castle popped into the meadow. The ghostly boy looked around in wonder. “Whathappened?”
Tuft shrugged. “A goodlaugh.”
He said nothing further, just retreated back to the long, earthen barrow where the Pixies lived—but far, far away a pair of storm-grey eyes popped open and a creature no longer just a man turned a calculating gaze toward the Cornishcoast.
