Free Faerie by Delle Jacobs

Joceline!
    He scooped her into his arms and sat among the thick roots of the tree, cradling her, rubbing his cheek against her matted hair. He should have made Geoffrey lock her up where she’d be safe.
Too late, too late. You’ve failed again. Someone evil has killed her and you could have stopped it.
Yet what could he have done? Something, surely. He had sworn never to let a woman go unprotected.
    Did her hand move? Or had the shaking of his own body jostled it? He frowned, watching her fingers for any twitch.
    Nothing.
    It was too late. His throat ached with pain and he wanted to throw back his head and scream his rage to the sky. But he leaned his cheek against her face, waiting with patience strained to breaking. He thought—or was it a breath of breeze he felt? Did he merely fool himself?
    There. Aye!
    Quickly, he stretched her out again on the ground, placed his mouth to hers, and blew a breath into her. He sucked it out, took a deeper breath, and closed his mouth around hers to blow again. Over and over he did the same.
    Her hand flopped. Again. Did he imagine it, or had he shaken it somehow? He breathed more air into her.
    “Leonie, breathe. Come on, breathe.” He blew some more.
    And he could see, she was breathing. He found a faint pulse in her neck.
    “Leonie, can you hear me?”
    If she did, she gave no sign.
    Philippe jumped to his feet with her in his arms and carried her to his horse, where he lifted and pushed her limp body over the saddle, facedown. He mounted behind the saddle, then shifted her into his arms as he worked himself into the saddle’s seat. With spurs to the grey warhorse, he rode toward the edge of the wood. In the meadow beyond, he spurred the horse to a gallop over the meadow and up the slope to the road to the castle gate.
    Villagers, soldiers, knights, all saw them. Cheers went up as they ran with them, but he ignored them, focusing on the open gatehouse. He galloped through the passage into the lower bailey, across it and up the slope to the stone-paved upper bailey, and didn’t stop until he reached the wooden doors of the hall.
    The knight Gerard ran out and reached up for Leonie. His heart still pounding, Philippe lowered her into the knight’s arms. As he released her to the knight and dismounted from his horse, all his strength fell away, a black nothingness taking over. He thought he would collapse to the pavement, but he grasped Tonerre’s stirrup.
    As Gerard rushed into the hall, Geoffrey and Lady Beatrice ran to him, screaming and wringing hands. Gerard kept ongoing through the doors as if they were not there. The crowd cut in front of Philippe so he could soon no longer see.
    “Come, Philippe.” He turned to see tiny Claire, who took his arm despite the fear he saw in her eyes. “You look as weak as a new kitten. Into the hall, now.”
    It took him a breath’s time to absorb what she was saying. He nodded. Just having her beside him seemed to restore his strength.
    “Where did you find her?”
    “In the forest. On the path from the ford.”
    She frowned, tilting her head to one side. “But the forest was searched. I was there, myself. It is her favorite place, so we went through it again and again.”
    He shrugged and shook his head. “This is all I know. She was lying beneath an oak tree amid a stand of beeches, off the path to my left. I could see her hair from the path. I thought at first it was a piece of cloth. But no other has hair like hers, so I knew.”
    “Who could have done this thing?”
    “A fiend.”
    She nodded. “Is she alive?”
    “Barely. How long has she gone missing?”
    “Since yesterday. She went into the woods with Sigge, the blacksmith’s son, to collect leaves for dying. Whatever happened, Sigge can’t even talk, not even a sound. Whatever he has seen, he is struck dumb with terror.”
    “She has been brutalized,” he said. “A blow to the head and bruises on her throat. I cannot say what else.”
    “Do you think—”
    “I