The Magic Between Us (Faerie)

by Tammy Falkner

  Her eye was swollen shut, and the skin around it was an alarming shade of purple. He pushed her cheekbone gently with the pad of his thumb. “I’m surprised it’s not broken,” he said.

  He drew her into his chest. He would draw her into himself, if he could. But then a crash sounded behind them. “I’ll get that,” Pritchens said.

  “Father, will you…” Marcus began. But Lord Ramsdale was already moving in that direction, along with Robinsworth, Allen, and Lord Phineas. They were a force to be reckoned with.

  Cecelia grabbed his hands. “Don’t let them hurt him,” she pleaded. “When he’s foxed, he sometimes does things.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Marcus asked. He didn’t need an answer to that, since even once was too often.

  “Since right after my mother died.” Cecelia’s voice broke, and she buried her face in his chest.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “You weren’t here to tell,” she said softly.

  She may as well have kicked him in the gut. All the breath left his body. She was right, though. He hadn’t been there for her to lean upon. He hadn’t been there because he had been trying to be human. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his own voice breaking as he held her.

  Marcus set her back from him, and his mother stepped forward. He said, “Trust me to take care of your father?”

  She drew her lower lip between her teeth and said, “Do you promise you won’t hurt him?”

  He nodded. He wanted to kill him. But she would never leave if she thought harm would come to her father.

  “He doesn’t want to be like this.”

  “I’m going to help him, Cece.”

  “All right,” she said with a nod.

  Marcus leaned forward and kissed her. He kissed her hard, with every bit of the passion in his body. “I love you so much,” he said.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered back, smiling through her tears.

  “Go home with Mother,” he said. He gave her a gentle push toward the door.

  “But…” she began to protest, until his mother drew her into her arms and held her like she was her own daughter.

  “We need to go,” his mother urged. “Let Marcus take care of him.”

  “He doesn’t want to be like this,” she said again, panic in her voice.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to your bloody father,” Marcus said. Cecelia flinched. “I promise, Cece. But you have to get out of here.”

  A crash sounded in the study, but Marcus wouldn’t let her walk back there.

  He bent at the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. She squealed and held tightly to the back of his coat. “Put me down, Marcus,” she said.

  “No.” There was no way he would let her stay there. Not right now. He walked out the front door and carried her over his shoulder all the way to his parents’ house, where he walked through the door. She’d just about given up the fight when they arrived, and the ladies all jumped to their feet when he entered the house. His mother clucked a warning behind him.

  “Claire,” Marcus said, and she came forward.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked. She bent over and looked into Cecelia’s face. “Oh, dear, you do look dreadful,” Claire said.

  “Thank you,” Cecelia said, her nose stuffy from being upside down. She sniffled.

  “Put her down, Marcus,” Claire said. “The poor thing has had enough.”

  “Not until she’s safe,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Can you take her back through the painting to the human world? I don’t want her father to be able to find her. Not until we get things sorted out.”

  ***

  Marcus had her thrown over his shoulder like a sack of feed, and she hadn’t had enough fight in her to protest.

  “You’re certain you want her to go?” Claire asked.

  He nodded. “It’s the only way.”

  “We’ll all go,” Sophia said.

  Claire nodded. “We’ll all go.”

  “We have to get the children,” Claire and Sophia said at the same time.

  “Do you have the painting, Claire?” he asked, growing impatient.

  She reached behind a heavy curtain. “It’s been here all along.”

  Marcus took her hand in his and prepared to step into the painting with her. “Me first,” his mother said. “You can’t just thrust her in the human world with no one there.”

  She took his hand from Claire’s and replaced it with her own, and then she walked into the painting and was gone. “Your turn,” Claire said. “We’ll follow in a very short time.”

  She patted the back of Cecelia’s leg, and Cecelia laughed at the absurdity of it. “I’m glad you find this amusing,” Marcus groused at her.

  “I feel like a sack of grain, Marcus,” she said, laughing louder. “I can’t help it.”

  “She’s delirious,” Marcus grumbled. But he took Claire’s hand and walked into the painting. When he got to the other side, he dropped Cecelia to her feet. She swayed for a moment as the pinkness receded from her cheeks. “Did I hurt your face?” he asked, taking her face in his gentle hands. Marcus had such gentle hands. He always had.

  “I’m fine.” She straightened her skirts. She was still dressed as a faerie. She would have to remedy that.

  He turned to go back, but she jerked his arm and pulled him to her. His mother turned her back, thank goodness. Because she planned to kiss this man. And she planned to kiss him thoroughly. Her lips met his, and it wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a wild clash of teeth and tongues.

  “I love you, Marcus,” she said, pressing her forehead against his. His breathing was heavy and thick. Claire’s hand was still extended through the painting, and she snapped her fingers to bring him back.

  Ainsley popped her head into the painting next and said, “I’ll be along shortly. I have to notify my father.”

  “All right,” Cecelia laughed.

  “I’ll see you as soon as I can,” Marcus said, his voice tight.

  “Take care of yourself,” Cecelia said.

  He hugged her to him, his embrace tight enough to make her squeak. And then he left her standing there in his mother’s entryway. Cecelia turned to Lady Ramsdale, who drew her into her arms.

  “I think I forgot my daughters in the land of the fae,” she said with a laugh.

  “I’m so sorry to put you through this,” Cecelia said.

  Lady Ramsdale squeezed her. “You’re a daughter to me, too,” she said. “I can never take your mother’s place, but I love you just as much as if I’d given birth to you, Cecelia.”

  Tears pricked at the backs of Cecelia’s lashes. “I hope you do, because I plan to marry that man.”

  The rest of the ladies made it through the painting, all in good time, including Lady Ramsdale’s daughters.

  “Let’s have some Madeira in my private sitting room, shall we?” Lady Ramsdale asked all the adults.

  Cecelia nodded. If this was to be her new family, she couldn’t have chosen a better one for herself.

  ***

  Marcus let himself back in when he got to Cecelia’s house. He peeked his head into Mr. Hewitt’s study and found all of them, Mr. Hewitt included, playing cards. Mr. Hewitt could barely hold his head up. But he was still drinking.

  “What’s going on?” Marcus asked.

  “Vingt-et-un,” his father said. “Do you want to play?”

  Marcus motioned toward the corridor. His father passed his cards to Mr. Pritchens, who took his place.

  “Why are you playing cards?” he asked.

  “It was Robinsworth’s idea.” His father shrugged.

  “What’s the theory behind it?”

  “He’s drunk and belligerent. And he’s not going to get any better. So, it’s best to let him fall asleep in his cups and then talk to him when he’s sober. He’ll be more receptive.”

  Marcus nodded. He really wanted to pin Mr. Hewitt to the wall by his throat. But he had prom
ised Cecelia he wouldn’t hurt her father. There would be plenty of time to talk to him tomorrow when he was sober. Then they would figure out what to do next.

  ***

  “I want you to take all the spirits from the house,” Mr. Hewitt said. “I want them removed. Every last drop.”

  His eyes shone with unshed tears. But Marcus couldn’t drum up enough sympathy for him. Or any. He’d hit Cecelia. He’d hurt her. More than once.

  The only reason he was there trying to help the man was because Cecelia had asked him to. “We won’t return it to you,” Marcus clarified.

  “I don’t want you to,” Mr. Hewitt said, shaking his head.

  They’d informed him of his misdeeds when he’d woken up that morning, and he’d taken it none too gently. The last thing he remembered when he woke was a rousing game of cards. He didn’t remember going to sleep. Before he’d fallen too deeply into his cups, they had him write a note to himself, just to prove that he did things he didn’t and couldn’t remember when he was foxed.

  He didn’t remember writing the note, but the evidence was there in front of him when he woke.

  “We won’t allow you to get more,” Marcus said.

  “Tie me up and put me in a room,” Mr. Hewitt said. “I’m a danger to myself. And to others. And to my daughter.” His voice cracked. “Bloody hell,” he swore. “How did it come to this?”

  Marcus refused to allow Cecelia’s father to justify his actions with his grieving, even though he was. He was a drunkard, plain and simple. He drank too much, and he did stupid things when he drank. Therefore, he must not drink anymore.

  “There will be no servants in the house while you get sober,” Marcus warned. “Not even Mr. Pritchens.”

  Mr. Pritchens opened his mouth to protest. “But…” he began. Marcus held up a hand, and Mr. Pritchens silenced himself.

  “Mr. Pritchens has a fondness for you. And he must leave because he might see your weakness and feel the need to make you happy again when things go poorly. And they will go very poorly.”

  “I’ve stopped drinking before,” Mr. Hewitt said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You suffered a great loss when Mrs. Hewitt died. And you tried to fill the void. We understand that. But if you want us to help you, we have to do it our way.”

  He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “Get all the spirits, Mr. Pritchens,” Marcus said. They dumped every drop out the window together.

  “These next few weeks will be difficult for you,” Marcus warned. “You’ll probably vomit. You’ll perspire. You’ll not be able to sleep. You’ll curse the day we were born.”

  Mr. Hewitt looked from one person to another. “You’re all going to stay?” He heaved a sigh. “I feel terrible keeping you all from your families.”

  Marcus’s father spoke up. “When this is over, my son is going to marry your daughter, so you’re part of our family already.”

  Mr. Hewitt nodded. “What shall we do to occupy ourselves?” he asked.

  “Cards?” Marcus suggested.

  Everyone moved to sit down at the table.

  “Where are all your wives?” Mr. Hewitt asked.

  “We sent them to the human world to keep Cecelia safe,” Marcus said. “They are keeping themselves busy. Probably buying bonnets and slippers and ribbons they don’t need.” They were more likely to be curing diseases or solving someone’s problems. But he wanted to ease the man’s mind, after all.

  Marcus covered Mr. Hewitt’s hand with his. “I plan to marry her,” he warned.

  “I know you will,” Mr. Hewitt said. “I wish you’d done it six months ago.”

  So did Marcus.

  Eighteen

  Cecelia lifted a finger to her mouth and absently nibbled at a nail. She’d been waiting for what seemed like hours for Claire to walk back through the painting with her father and Marcus in tow. Marcus had sent word with Milly just days ago and said to expect them. He said her father had some business to take care of before they could leave, but that they would be along as soon as it was done.

  Lord Phineas and the Duke of Robinsworth had returned to the other world a sennight ago. Marcus had stayed behind with her father to clear up his outstanding issues. There was the matter of his fight with Mr. Randall and his punishment. He was to be removed from his seat with the Trusted Few, and when Cecelia returned, she would take that seat.

  She wasn’t certain she could do it justice. Sometimes, she wanted nothing more than to tell the fae to go to the very devil, but she couldn’t. They were her people, and she would have to go back and forth in the future. At least she would be able to represent both worlds with her leadership and fight for the interests of all.

  The first motion she would make would be regarding marriage equality. Her marriage to Marcus would be viewed differently by the Trusted Few than would the marriage of two fully fae people. And she wanted that practice to cease. Her marriage would be just as valid as any other, and she wouldn’t settle until the unpardonable errors were changed to reflect the need for equality. She could do good things with her seat on the bench. She really could. She was sure of it.

  A knock sounded on the window, and Cecelia crossed to throw it open. “You’re going to wear your nails down to the quick if you don’t stop that incessant gnawing,” Milly warned.

  “Where have you been?” Cecelia asked. “I expected you to come yesterday with news.”

  Milly kicked at the oak floor with the toe of her slipper. “Something came up.”

  “You mean Ronald?” Cecelia asked playfully.

  “Ronald has a way of stealing my attention.” A blush colored the garden gnome’s cheeks. “Even after all these years.”

  “Do you know where they are?” Cecelia asked.

  “Things didn’t go very well in court,” Milly confessed. “They were detained for a bit.”

  “What didn’t go well?”

  “They wanted to put your father in gaol,” she said. “But he made restitution to Mr. Randall, and the man was finally satisfied, so he asked for leniency.”

  “So all of that is resolved?”

  “Every bit of it. Your future husband is a brilliant speaker. He had the Trusted Few believing that your father has turned over a new leaf. That he has changed. He went on and on about how your father hasn’t had a drop of spirits in a month.”

  Marcus had written to her about it, but he hadn’t been very forthcoming with details.

  “My father is coming here with Marcus, right?”

  Cecelia was a little bit scared to see her father. She’d left him with a group of men he didn’t know to dry out. It was his family-to-be, but he still could hold a grudge. He might be upset that she’d abandoned him a month ago. Although it was really he who abandoned her. He might not see it that way. “He’s well now, right?”

  Milly smiled. “He’s well.” She patted Cecelia’s hand. “I would worry more about that man who is dead set on marrying you.” She grinned.

  “If we marry here, he’ll have to wait for the reading of the banns.”

  “Not if he asked his father to secure a special license,” Milly sang.

  “He didn’t!” Cecelia cried. But her heart leaped at the same time.

  “Rumor has it that he did.” Milly clucked her tongue. “They might send for the vicar this very evening.”

  Nothing would make Cecelia happier. It had been more than a month since she’d seen the man she loved more than life itself.

  Claire had gone into the painting more than an hour before to bring them back. Cecelia expected them to return right away. But it wasn’t to be, apparently.

  Cecelia flopped down on the settee to wait. After another hour, her eyelids grew heavy. She laid her head down on the arm of the settee and waited. She tried to stay awake, but it was simply too difficult. Certainly, she would wake when Marcus came through the painting.

  She let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Marcus had never
seen a sight more beautiful. Part of him didn’t want to wake her, but she was waiting there for him. She’d fallen asleep waiting, apparently, and he loved her even more for it.

  Good God, she was beautiful. Her hair spilled over the side of her face, and he reached out to tuck it behind her ear. She stirred, reaching for his hand. He took it in his and looked at her face.

  Suddenly, her eyes shot open and she sat up. “Marcus?” she squealed. And she launched herself into his arms. He picked her up, spinning her around until he was certain he would make them both dizzy. “I missed you so much,” she admitted when he finally set her down and looked into her face.

  “Not as much as I missed you,” he said. He’d missed her like he would miss his right arm if someone took it. Every day, he’d debated about going through the painting to see her. He’d considered it so many times. But there were days in the beginning when his presence was needed. And there were days at the end of his stay with her father when he didn’t want to miss the healing process. He wanted to witness it all so he could recount it to her. So he could tell their children about their grandfather’s triumphs. So he could tell them how strong he was and how much he’d overcome.

  There was also some truth to the fact that he wanted to see the man punished. But they’d spent hours and days and weeks talking. They’d talked about Mrs. Hewitt’s death and the utter devotion Mr. Hewitt felt for her. They’d talked about how he felt when Cecelia was born. How he’d never been disappointed he had a daughter and no sons, because his daughter was bloody perfect.

  Mr. Hewitt told him about the day of her birth, and how frightened he’d been the day she went on her first mission and how angry he was at himself for hurting her. It wasn’t until Mr. Hewitt learned to forgive himself that he could heal. So, Marcus stayed to help him with that.

  Cecelia jerked him from his reverie when she reached up and pulled him down so that his lips could meet hers. In that moment, he felt like he’d come home. She kissed him, her lips soft and welcoming, and her arms were strong and open. And he’d never loved her more.

  “Where’s my father?” she asked when he finally let her breathe for a moment.

  “He’ll be along in a moment,” Marcus said. “I wanted to see you first. Your father will arrive with Claire momentarily.”