The little tree house was neat, with a bed in one rounded corner and a couch with a fireplace in the other. There was a kitchen area in the third corner and a small door which probably led to a bathroom in the fourth.
I wondered how they managed to have both a fire and running water in the middle of a living tree and then decided that magic was probably the answer. Things that would be impossible in the human world were clearly ordinary here.
“Well? Where are they?” Bran asked.
“Here.” Lachlan went over to the neatly made-up bed—it had a patchwork coverlet that seemed to be made of many different kinds of animal fur—and pulled a long, flat chest out from under it. He spoke a few words in what sounded like Celtic and the lid of the trunk flew open.
Reaching inside, the dark Fae pulled out a sword in leather scabbard. He lifted it with both hands, as though it was heavy.
“Come take back your own, friend,” he said to Bran, who took the sword from him, a delighted expression on his face.
“I never thought I’d see this again!” he exclaimed. Pulling the sword from its scabbard with one hand, he admired the long, silver blade which ended in a sharp point.
“Is it a magic sword?” I asked, studying the blade. It had curving marks etched on its gleaming surface that might have been some other language.
“It’s a family sword,” Bran said. “My grandfather’s blade—my father gave it to me when I came of age.” He looked suddenly sad. “He probably regrets it now, since he has taken the family name from me.”
“It doesn’t matter about the name—the sword will still work for you,” Lachlan told him. “Your father can’t change the blood in your veins and the sword will feel your lineage.”
So it was some kind of magic sword, I thought, looking at the long, silver blade which Bran held with ease in one hand. Maybe only someone of his bloodline could wield it.
“How heavy is that?” I asked, looking at it with interest.
“You want to try holding it?” Bran grinned at me. “Here.” He held the sword out in one hand.
“But I’m not of your, uh, bloodline,” I protested. “It won’t bite me or anything, will it?”
“Of course not.” Bran laughed. “Go on—just hold it.”
I stepped up and put a hand on the pommel of the sword, just above where he was gripping it. It reminded me of one of those great swords you see in movies about the Middle Ages—the kind that are so long, the knight who uses one has to strap it across his back, because the sword is too long to be strapped to his side.
“Have you got it?” Bran asked. When I nodded, he let go and I gasped.
It felt like he had suddenly handed me a dumbbell—a really heavy one—which I hadn’t expected. He’d been handling it with such ease, I had thought maybe it was made of some lightweight metal like aluminum, but that was clearly not the case.
I grabbed it with both hands and tried to hold it up, but there was no way. The tip of the sword swung down and imbedded itself in the wooden floor with a chunk.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to do that to the floor—and I really hope I didn’t hurt your sword, Bran!”
“It’s all right, don’t worry about it.”
He reached to take the sword from me but when his hand touched mine where I was gripping the pommel, I felt a sudden tingling. A ray of light—like a silver lightning bolt, ran down the length of the blade making us both gasp.
“What…what was that?” I exclaimed, wide-eyed.
“The sword acknowledged you, little one,” Lachlan answered, since Bran seemed as shocked as I was. He looked at Bran. “That usually only happens when you are pledging to be a lady’s knight.”
“I do so pledge.” To my surprise, Bran took the sword from me and then knelt in front of me. He held the sword up between us and kissed its blade solemnly. “My blade is yours, my Lady Emma,” he murmured, looking steadily at me. “It shall shed the blood of your enemies and shield you from harm as long as I draw breath. May I die if I break my vow.”
“Well…thank you, Bran.” I didn’t know what else to say as he knelt before me, his golden hair gleaming in the muted glow of the magical wall sconces. He really did remind me of a knight kneeling before his queen and vowing his undying loyalty. I felt my heart beating faster as I looked at him.
“I would pledge to you too, little one,” Lachlan said. “With this.”
Reaching into the chest again, he drew out a long wooden staff. At the end of it, the wood had been carved into an intricate swirl of thin branches. Between them, I could see a clear crystal.
The dark Fae also knelt in front of me, right beside Bran, and extended the wooden staff to me.
“Touch it please, my Lady,” he murmured. “It should also acknowledge you, just as Bran’s sword did.”
Hesitantly, I put out a finger and touched the tip of the wooden staff. At once, the clear crystal beamed into life, emitting a rich purple and gold light that reminded me of the Obsidian Portal.
“My Lady Emma…” Lachlan kissed the staff and bowed his head. “My magic shall be used only to protect you. May it serve you well and keep harm from you, as long as I breathe. May I die if my words prove false.”
My heart beat even harder. I had been a little frightened at first, but now I felt touched at the sight of my two guys, kneeling there and vowing to protect me.
It made me feel like I was some kind of princess in a movie and once again I felt a tug of sadness when I remembered that at some point I would have to choose between them.
I need them both! I thought, my heart fisting in my chest. I can’t do without either one of them!
But I wasn’t being asked to choose yet. So I only smiled at both of them and said, “Thank you, Lachlan. Thank you, Bran. This really means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome, my Lady,” Bran said formally. Rising, he put the sword back in the scabbard and strapped it across his back.
Lachlan rose as well, the wooden staff in one hand. The crystal was clear again, now that I was no longer touching it.
“Will you hurry?” The high, piping voice was coming from outside the tree. “We cannot delay any longer—we must get to Court!” It was Chrisanther and the little Nixies sounded extremely impatient.
“I guess we’d better get going to the Summer Court—we can’t put it off forever,” Bran murmured.
“What do you think is going to happen to me there?” My stomach was suddenly one massive knot of apprehension.
“Nothing that doesn’t happen to us as well,” Bran said firmly. “We are sworn to your service now, Emma. To punish you, they have to get through Lachlan and me first.”
“Bran is right—they’ll have to kill us if they want to hurt you.” Lachlan’s emerald eyes blazed fiercely. “But we must go.”
We all trooped out of the tree house—(or was it more of a tree studio apartment?)—and Lachlan murmured some words of Gaelic or Celtic and waved his staff at the door as he shut it. Then he nodded at Chrisanther, who was buzzing around our heads.
“All right—lead the way.”
“We will go by portal,” the Nixie proclaimed.