Compelled by Love (Kendawyn Paranormal Regency) Read online

  “She’s very young,” Alice said.

  “Indeed, but old enough to know better.”

  “As I was old enough to know not to leave the masquerade early, and Jane was old enough to see I was unwell but decide to not send for a healer who would have found the spell, and you--”

  “What are you saying?” Hugh growled.

  “Leave her be.”

  “She is,” he sighed, “a child. She is still at school.”

  “Then we’ll leave her to her family and start our life.”

  He kissed her in answer.

  The morning of the wedding dawned cold and bright. Mariah woke Alice with a cup of tea and an order to snuggle into her bed. Mariah, Jane, and Henrietta were the ones who dressed Alice. They laughed as they curled her hair and tightened her stays and lifted the gown over her head—they turned her into the whimsical bride she wanted to be and never cared that any other woman would have had a servant doing the work.

  “Are you ready?” Mariah asked after Jane and Henrietta returned to their rooms and lady’s maids.

  Alice nodded.

  Mariah gave Alice a grin, wiped a tear, and opened the door to Hugh, who had been waiting for a chance to see his Alice

  “It’s tradition,” he said at the door, “to wait for the chapel, but…”

  Alice crossed the room, wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him close. That she could was a miracle to her.

  But then…

  He’d spent the ten days he allowed his mother and aunt to put the wedding together ensuring that Alice was certain she was adored.

  Wanted.

  And loved.

  Much gratitude to those who helped this book come to life.

  I'm looking at you Kristyn, Summer, Carissa, Pamela, and Auburn.

  Loves, hugs, and kisses.

  ~Amanda

  Amanda A. Allen is the author of These Lying Eyes, Song of Sorrow, and Compelled by Love. She is part of the author groups behind Kendawyn Paranormal Regency and The Paradisi Chronicles.

  Amanda A. Allen has been telling herself stories since she was a small child. Some of these stories are now in book form. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her three children, two dogs, and mounds of novels. She can be found at:

  amandaaallen.com

  The Shadow Kin possess great abilities. They can sense secrets, foretell your future, and sometimes even control the shadows themselves. But even the Kin aren’t immune to fate.

  For Fallow, the future promises nothing but sorrow. Armed with only the mystical red cloak of the Shadow Kin, she is determined to conquer what’s ahead and choose her own destiny. Even if that means risking everything.

  chapter one

  Fallow was not brave.

  So, when she wove through the trees, glancing over her shoulder, telling herself it would be okay, what she really wanted was to vomit. Or perhaps to curl into the roots of a giant tree, cover up in the red cloak of her Kin and wait until it was over.

  Instead she wove through the trees, telling herself to have faith in Grandmother. In what had been foretold. Grandmother, trained in the ways of the Shadow Kin could travel the shadow paths, she could cross even into the shadow worlds. She could ferret out secrets. She could bring the shadows to life. And, most importantly for Fallow, Grandmother could look deep into the Fallow’s shadows and see her possible futures—her secrets.

  Tonight, untrained as she was, Fallow had glimpsed her own secrets. Father had said he’d be home past midnight, but he’d lied, and his secrets had folded out before her. Father had heard of the dance in the trees. He’d forbidden her to go to such things, and he intended to catch her breaking his rules.

  And so he would.

  Grandmother had told her that she must abjure her father to be free. She must formally divorce him and her name. There was no sneaking away. Not if she wanted freedom.

  “Fallow,” the voice came from the shadows of the trees and Fallow turned, heart in her throat though she knew it was too early for Father. The voice was deep, the baker’s son, Noonan. Ordering herself to hide her fear, Fallow hurried into the trees that surrounded the secluded meadow.

  “I can’t believe you came,” said another, safer voice. Harriet, the baker’s daughter, who was as sneaky as a fox and as warm as the bread her father baked.

  “Fallow!” The gasp was so shocked, so amazed, so familiar that Fallow forgot what lay ahead—just for a moment.

  “You didn’t think I’d come,” Fallow said as she hugged her friend and stepped into the clearing. The woods were thick and dark as any nightmare, but the clearing was well lit with a bonfire, torches, and the sound of laughter. There were dozens there. Faces from far away that Fallow didn’t know and those from her own village.

  “Your father,” Linna whispered.

  “Is on a hunting trip.” Fallow lied swallowing bile.

  “He’ll know.” Linna didn’t have to list the many times he’d caught the two of them snatching a moment of happiness.

  He would know. This time, she wanted him to. Fallow pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her thick braid and nodded. Linna’s hand was a comforting weight in the darkness, but it shook just a little.

  “I’m not going back,” Fallow said. She motioned to the bundle behind her. They intended to shove her into marriage with Master Finnegan who had a half dozen children, a heavy hand, and was older than her father.

  Their hands clutched each other, fingers digging in. Fallow’s whisper was barely louder than breathing, “Grandmother viewed my secrets.”

  There was that rush of bile again, the tensing of her shoulders, the faint smell of copper in her nose—the blood yet to come.

  “She did?” Linna’s gasp was stifled under Fallow’s hand. They both glanced around before stepping even close, only a whisper of air between them as if they could squash the revelation in the darkness.

  Viewing someone’s secrets, reading their possible futures, if there was anything that Fallow’s father would punish brutally, it was that. He hated anything to do with the Kin almost as much as he hated Fallow’s grandmother. And yet, Fallow had let Grandmother whisk her through the shadows to the crossroads. Fallow had lit the candle that had been made with her hair and Grandmother had stepped into Fallow’s shadow looking down each of the four paths—her most likely futures.

  Just the thought of it made Fallow ill. Fate had not been kind to her.

  “And,” Fallow said resolutely as if she wasn’t aware that tonight would change the entire course of her life, “I’m here to dance before I claim the future I want.”

  “What does the future you want have?”

  “Love, children, sorrow almost beyond bearing, and freedom from Father.”

  Linna’s swallow was audible. She didn’t need Fallow to explain that her escape would not be easy. Those clever, friendly fingers, caressed the back of Fallow’s hand once, twice, and then squeezed gently.

  No words were needed. But they were said anyway.

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “And I you.” Fallow didn’t cry as she said the words. Instead, she took her friend by the shoulders, pulled her close, and clutched her for a long moment before saying, “This is our chance to dance.”

  Someone fed the fire and the flames rose higher. Linna and Fallow hovered at the side of the clearing. The bonfire crackled, the smell of wood and smoke filled the clearing, mixing with the scents of the forest. The revelry was so rare for them that it touched some part of the dancers that made them move a little faster, swing a little wider, leap a little higher. The laughter was loud but friendly. Conversation was stolen in snatches between dances and laughter was the most frequent sound.

  Fallow had never before experienced the like. She’d never been brave enough to risk it.

  Linna took hold of Fallow’s hand, leading her into a weaving line of dancers. “Then dance we shall. Dance until we can move no longer.”

  “Until the moon sets and the sun com
es up.” Fallow yelled back as they swung into the steps, finding the rhythm. Friendly hands helped them as they struggled to learn but in minutes, it seemed as if they’d always known the steps. Neither bothered. They didn't want to meet the eyes of those around them.

  Fallow danced with Linna until she spun away, shouting about water. Fallow ignored her own dry throat, determined to enjoy every minute of the fun before Father arrived.

  Just the thought of him struck her with fear. Almost as if she could sense him moving closer, maybe she could. She prayed for strength. Reminded herself that she would make her own choices. And as she did, a hand took hold of hers. She thought, at first, that Linna had returned. But the hand was big, calloused, and a warm in a way that Linna’s never had been.

  There are many paths ahead of you. Grandmother’s voice echoed in Fallow’s head. Fallow gazed at the face that towered over her, but she could not make out any features. Did she know this man? The township was large for this part of Pareon and there were many smaller villages around it.

  “Hello,” the deep voice made Fallow shiver.

  Not in fear.

  All of your paths are rife with sorrow.

  “Hello,” Fallow replied. She smiled and felt both a burst of sadness and of knowing. That voice, that hand, it was as if she had always known them, though she was certain she had never met him before.

  Is there no hope? She’d asked Grandmother.

  The man pulled her close. So gently—giving her every chance to dance with someone else.

  There is always hope, but only if you have the courage.

  Fallow’s fingers shook then as Grandmother counseled her. And they shook again, now, in the grip of the man that she had missed. Ached for. Feeling his hand on hers. His voice echoing in her ear. It was as if something that was missing had been returned. Something treasured. She hadn’t known how lonely she was until this moment. But the loneliness poured in on her with a flood of hope.

  And then he swung her into the dance, and the lights whirled in her eyes, dazzling her as the two of them wound round and round their neighbors. She danced until her feet pulsed in pain, until the moon set, the sun rose, and her father grabbed her shoulder.

  “What,” he roared, “do you think you’re doing?”

  Fallow caught the horrified gaze of Linna and the shocked gaze of her partner. Father’s fingers dug into Fallow’s flesh creating deep wells that would leave bruises for far too long. This was the last time, she promised herself.

  “I am dancing,” Fallow said. Her hands shook again until she balled them into fists.

  Again Grandmother’s voice echoed. There is hope. You must have the courage to fight.

  “You are promised,” Father shook her, and her head snapped back and forth.

  “I am not promised.”

  Father’s only answer was to backhand her. She was on the ground before the pain had registered. Without a thought, her knees curled protectively into her torso. Fallow did not try to twist or crawl away, she had long since learned that fighting was futile.

  “A piece of the agreement was neglected.” She strove for a sense of serenity and failed. It wasn’t possible to be calm as she fought her instincts to wrap her arms around her head and wait out the beating.

  Is there no hope?

  You must have the courage to fight.

  “And what was neglected,” Father roared. Spittle landed on her cheeks, her lips, her hair.

  You must have the courage to fight.

  “My agreement.”

  “That,” Father’s fingers dug harder pulling out a whimper with little effort, “can be remedied. You belong to me and I will dispose of you as I wish.” He shook her. And she bounced like a rag doll. Just as she always did.

  You must have the courage to fight.

  With a huge gasp of air, Fallow screamed, “I abjure thee.”

  Her words seemed to echo in the clearing silencing the little conversation that remained. Still horror filled the faces of their audience and seemed to hold the mouths of the audience closed.

  Fallow dared to break it as she repeated, “I abjure thee once, twice, thrice. I abjure thee. I am no daughter of thine.”

  The ancient words seemed to hover in the air. Almost on wings, darting among the crowd. She heard Linna squeak. A deep long breath from the man whose face she had yet to see clearly. But it was Father who held Fallow’s gaze. Brown eyes met brown eyes. The same earthen color. One set lit with rage. The other terrified.

  And then the anger intensified to the point that Fallow was uncertain she’d survive the evening. Her arms lunged for her head, trying to protect her skull, but she was too late. Father had grasped her hair and yanked her up. He let go only long enough dig his fingers into her arms instead of her hair. He shook her. Until her head rolled, her vision blackened, and she could hardly catch a breath.

  Her ears begged, pled for a witness but who would face down such a man? At least it would be over once he was done killing her.

  “Witnessed,” Linna shouted. “Witnessed. Master Crane, you must let her go.”

  “Witnessed,” said the deep voice—only a breath after Linna.

  “That is not enough,” Father laughed. He dropped Fallow to the ground, kicked her once, twice. She was back into the ball, hands over her head. Was that a broken rib? Of course.

  Father laughed again. A cold, hard dagger of a laugh.

  “Not enough,” he growled again and the thump of his boot into her side echoed in her ears.

  She moaned. His boot struck her again. Her arm snapped.

  She tensed waiting for the next kick. Maybe this one would cave in her chest and let her fade.

  But it never landed.

  Fallow coughed and tasted blood at the back of her throat. She cracked her eyes, daring to peek, and saw her dance partner holding father back with a firm grip on his throat. Her savior’s eyes were dark shadows in his face, and she could not read them.

  In the shocked quiet, another voice said, “Witnessed.”

  Her dance partner shoved Father back. The final witnessing voice was the lovely, sweet, husky voice of Harriet, the baker’s daughter.

  Who had dared to step between Fallow’s dance partner and Fallow’s father. Harriet faced down the beast that was Fallow’s father and said, “And that is enough. She is no daughter of thine. Thrice she abjured thee. Thrice she has been witnessed. She is not your daughter but she is my friend and you will leave or I will call for the guard myself.”

  Harriet stood tall and unafraid in front of Father. Fallow curled into her ribs, clutched her arm with her free hand and watched the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  Father stepped closer to Harriet. Harriet stepped closer to Father. “I am not your daughter either, Master Crane. And you will not get away with doing to me what you have done to Fallow No-Name.”

  Father spat at Harriet’s feet before turning to Fallow and spitting again. Fallow closed her eyes feeling the heavy spray on her forehead.

  “Whore,” he shouted, “Whore, betrayer, slattern.”

  He spit again, before he spun, facing the crowd of onlookers. He growled, deep and low, staring them down. More than one person stepped back as he thrust his way through the crowd.

  Fallow could hear him raging and wondered who he would find to loose his fury on now. Perhaps he would remarry. She hoped no one would be foolish for such a mistake.

  She attempted to move, whimpered and Linna was at Fallow’s side. She whispered into Fallow’s hair, wiping the spit from away, crying all the while. Fallow hardly noticed. Not with that last furious glance her father had given her.

  She wasn’t free yet.

  She remembered that night with her grandmother as she lay curled into the dirt. When they left the crossroads, when the candle had sputtered, Grandmother had asked, “What will you do?”

  “What would you do?” Fallow countered, unable to help watching the shadows then and now for the form of her father.

 
“I would remember that you are not just responsible for yourself. You are responsible for your children.”

  Fallow stopped on the path and looked towards the scrawny bones of Grandmother, wrapped in her red cloak, wearing the burden of her age.

  Her face was haunted when she said, “I gave this warning to your mother once, but she did not listen.”

  A tear slipped down Fallow’s cheek. Then and now.

  “Your future would have been so different if Myylin had been willing to consider paths other than the one she wanted.”

  Fallow shoved the tear away and dug her nails into the palm of her hand. She had never thought that her mother might have, surely must have, had a similar conversation with Grandmother.

  “I will find the courage to fight,” Fallow said.

  Song of Sorrow

  Now Available Here!

  When Snow White falls in love with a man too charming to be real, Rose Red warns her that all was not as it seemed.

  Only Snow didn’t listen and their fates were changed. Will Snow find redemption? And as she journeys to free her sister, just how dangerous will she become?

  Coming Soon

  Now Available

  Coming Soon