She smiled and closed her eyes as the tea soothed her throat. She could almost sense her husband’s presence now, although not in the same way as she did others. He didn’t roil with cacophonic emotion or emit furious vibrations as his brothers often did. Drogo’s was a mental and physical presence, soothing in some ways, disturbing in others. He stirred a restlessness in her that she thought pregnancy should have diminished.
“The oak represents strength and power,” she answered his question as her cough calmed. “It’s not witchcraft,” she assured him. “We merely call on the power the earth provides. There is no magic to it.”
“Of course not,” he said dryly. “Everyone calls power from trees.”
“Put like that…” She wrinkled her nose. “We’re Malcolms. We can’t change who we are. Perhaps at one time everyone had the power to summon the earth’s strength, but the knowledge has been lost in time. Malcolms, on the other hand, carefully pass along their knowledge to each succeeding generation. Therein lies our strength.”
“You will forgive me if I do not believe trees and rituals provide anything more than a form of entertainment?”
He wore his impassive face again. A man as strong as her husband had no need to call on powers other than his own. No wonder it was women who held the secrets of the earth. If she had shoulders as broad as Drogo’s, she’d heave Lord Twane off the Tower.
She smiled forgivingly in the face of his disbelief. “We all find strength in what we can. I believe your daughter likes this tea. She is kicking quite enthusiastically.”
That was dreadfully manipulative of her, worthy of Granny at her best. Drogo’s gaze immediately swung with fascination to the slope of her abdomen. She loved the curiosity lighting his eyes. Unlike many men, he seemed utterly enthralled with every aspect of childbearing.
He pressed his palm to the place where their child kicked. “He doesn’t kick like a girl,” he teased. “We shall name him Hercules.”
Ninian laughed. He made her so furious sometimes, she could smack him. Other times, he stirred her to a passion deeper than any ocean. Always, he made her feel alive, as she never had been before. Even knowing he stubbornly refused to accept her as she was, she could love him.
But she wouldn’t. She had to go against everything he represented if she wanted their daughter to survive.
“We will name her Alana,” she countered. “I think it only appropriate she be named after another saint.”
“Alan, then, for that saint was a man.”
“How is it you know so much of religious history? You are not a Malcolm.”
The endearing grin he so seldom used twisted a corner of his lips as he pressed a kiss against her brow. “I am an Ives, madam, with all the education and books of the world open before me. At least some of us availed ourselves of the opportunity.”
“That’s true,” Ninian said, caught by surprise at the thought. “As women, we’ve had to learn by trial and error and pass our knowledge on by word of mouth. But men can go to school and travel the world and learn from a vast array of sources. Isolated, women are not presented with the conflicting beliefs of others. I’m not certain which is better.”
“Keeping an open mind is best,” he assured her. “You will soon see I am right, and that you will be quite healthy and happy at Ives.”
Ninian narrowed her eyes and wished she could put a hex on him. Obstinate man.
“Lord Twane is suffering the gout,” she replied demurely instead. “Aunt Stella says his witnesses have already met with his barristers. His case should be crumbling as we speak. The apology will be a little more difficult to contrive. That’s why I needed the tree.” She was being manipulative again. She knew nothing other than that the witnesses and barristers met. She just imbued the meeting with the positive spirit she needed.
Drogo sighed, patted her hand, and rose from his seat. “The Lords have called a meeting on the morrow. I will deal with it. Why don’t you help Sarah choose Christmas gifts for the family?”
“Make a list of recipients for me,” she said sweetly, with her best smile. “I wouldn’t wish to forget all of Dunstan and Ewen’s by-blows. I’m just now learning all your father’s.”
“My brothers can play Lord Bountiful with their get,” he answered dismissively. “I have enough to do with just my brothers. William will be there, and if I have anything to say about it, so will the rest. Resign yourself, madam, we are going to Ives.”
He stalked out, lord of all he surveyed, commanding his troops with a finger snap.
She knew he was a busy man with many connections. She’d seen solicitors and men of business and powerful lords come and go through his study portals. He managed his numerous estates and controlled the strings of every family member as well. He attended to his duties in Parliament, wrote thoughtful speeches, and pored over financial records. He did what he thought best for everyone concerned, from the world at large to the least member of his family.
And she’d thought Granny with her amulets and potions was a manipulative old witch!
But honest men did not win against men who twisted evil to their own devices. Whether he knew it or not, Drogo needed her help.
No longer smiling, Ninian knew the conflict to come could very well be as explosive as thunder and lightning. No wonder Wystan had flooded. When heaven and hell met, earth was their battleground.
Twenty-five
“The servants lie. I am a peer of the realm. Whose word will the Lords take? Twane will have to do better than that, I tell you.” Restlessly, Drogo paced the worn carpet of his study. Neither Ninian nor Sarah had dared replace any of the relics in here.
His lawyer didn’t look up but continued consulting his notes. “I beg your pardon for mentioning this, my lord, but you are an Ives. Your family has not made a favorable impression upon its peers. Your personal record may be pristine, as you say, but it will not diminish the scandals of generations.
Drogo cursed under his breath. He didn’t have the patience for this nonsense. He’d rather be tracing a missing shilling on the account books than endure this type of public scrutiny. Damn Sarah for involving him with her lost souls.
Sarah had brought him Ninian. He couldn’t damn her any more than he could blame her. He could only blame himself for letting Twane go this far. He should have shot the bastard.
“If they would let Lady Twane or my wife testify…”
“You know they will not, my lord. It’s already been established that you and Lady Twane occupied the same household in Northumberland. You may bring in your servants to testify that you kept separate rooms, but if Twane’s servants testify that you had sexual congress here in London before you left, there is naught you can do. Adultery is adultery, no matter the location.”
He could lose everything. Twane would demand more money than he could raise if he mortgaged every property. His brothers would be penniless. He would have to start all over again. And Ninian… Who would she believe? Would he lose her too?
As if his anxious thoughts had drawn her, Ninian drifted into the room. She nodded at the barrister as he rose, but her loving attention did not divert from him. Drogo swallowed hard as his gaze swept over her soft and wholly desirable figure. How had she known he needed the reassurance of her trust and presence when even he would have denied it if asked?
“It’s All Hallow’s Eve, my lord,” she murmured, brushing an invisible thread from his coat as she was wont to do.
Drogo didn’t know if this was her way of being wifely, or if she needed to touch him as much as he needed her touch. He hoped it was the latter. “And…?” he prompted. Sometimes, she inhabited another world and needed reminding of this one.
The look in her angelic blue eyes was anything but angelic as she held his gaze. “My family has a… tradition… of gathering on this date. We will try not to disturb you, but quite a few of us are present.”
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He sensed that beneath that mischievous expression she was telling him something, if only he could interpret it. But he definitely did not want to hear what it was after seeing that unholy light in her eyes. Let them have their silly rituals. All that mattered to him was Ninian and the child she carried. He glanced at her worriedly. “How are you feeling? Are you sure you are up to company?”
The message in her eyes disappeared behind that bland smile he might learn to hate. “I am quite well, thank you, my lord. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
He didn’t want it to be this way between them. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise her the moon was blue and fairies would dance at her feet, if that was her heart’s desire. But he not only didn’t know how to go about it, he wasn’t certain if she would appreciate it. Courtship after marriage was a damned confusing business.
He caught her before she could drift away again. When she looked at him questioningly, he traced a finger along the delicate curve of her cheek. “Your family is welcome here, my love. Give them my greetings, will you?”
A genuine smile lit her eyes. “I shall. I didn’t know how much I missed them before. I thank you for bringing me here.”
Stunned by that admission, Drogo let her float away. Had she finally grasped the advantages of London? Did that mean she might forgive him for keeping her here and allow him in her bed again?
The barrister coughed politely, drawing Drogo back to the moment. “My lord, if your wife’s family shows its support…”
Hell. Now he’d be reduced to groveling at the feet of Ninian’s uncles. “I have not asked them,” he said curtly. “I would not embarrass them more than necessary.”
“Of course, my lord.” The barrister returned to taking notes.
Drogo had the sudden nervous urge to check on his kitchen garden.
***
“Of course you may join us, Sarah,” the duchess declared regally. “The more positive energy we generate, the stronger we will be.”
Sarah glanced down at her fashionable gown with the dashing blue bows and striped ruching, then back at the simple white garb of Ninian’s guests. “I’m not dressed properly.”
“It’s your energy we need, dear, not your material possessions. Come, take this place.” Stella guided her to a position behind Ninian, outside the circle of stones that had appeared overnight.
“Can we really stop Lord Twane this way?” Sarah asked eagerly.
“He generates a great deal of very negative energy we must overcome, but negative energy is not stable. Just stand here and think positive thoughts. Do you pray in church?”
Sarah nodded hesitantly. “Sometimes.”
Stella patted her arm encouragingly. “Then concentrate on doing so now. This is just our way of grouping our separate prayers into one powerful, healing whole.”
Ninian hid a smile at Sarah’s obvious bewilderment. Like much of society, Sarah considered church a place to show off her newest gown, if she attended at all. The simple attire of Ninian’s cousins did not quite suit Sarah’s image of church.
“Will we see spirits?” Sarah whispered as Stella swept away to position her troops.
“I’ve not participated in a long time, but I don’t believe so,” Ninian whispered back. “We’re just uniting our power, as my aunt said.”
“And that works?” Sarah asked in obvious disbelief.
Ninian didn’t know. Her grandmother had taught her that Malcolms possessed strengths they must use wisely, but her grandmother had mostly used her greater intelligence to trick the less educated into doing as she bid. Her grandmother was a healer who dabbled more in manipulating people than illnesses. Ninian possessed the odd ability to occasionally know how people felt, but she considered that more weakness than strength, and her herbs were more practical than magical. Lucinda could draw mysteriously beautiful or evil portraits, but that accomplished nothing at all. Christina claimed to see colors that told people’s characters. Mostly, that just made Malcolms odd, not strong. Perhaps if she drenched the House of Lords in Aunt Hermie’s perfumes… She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t know if any Malcolm had the power to sway the House of Lords. She just knew she had to try—just to make Drogo believe.
And to give her the confidence to leave him if he did not. If her grandmother had been right in this, then she had been right about the necessity of Malcolms being born in Wystan. Saving Drogo might mean losing her husband forever.
She would not think of that. She must concentrate on what was best for her child. Taking the hand of the cousin beside her, Ninian lifted her gaze to the tree in the center of the circle and joined in the prayer that Aunt Stella chanted.
***
“They’re all mad,” Drogo muttered as he watched the ceremony from Ninian’s bedroom window. They’d potted a tree in the middle of smoky, foggy London, where even the stars didn’t shine, and now they stood around it in the chilly damp wearing little more than muslin shifts, singing songs. Mad. Lunatic. Silly fools.
His gaze shifted to Ninian. In some trick of lamplight from the windows, he could see her features as clearly as if the moon shone on them. As on the night he’d first seen her, she radiated loveliness and innocence. Tonight, however, he didn’t see the loneliness he’d sensed that first time. She’d finally found the companionship she lacked.
She didn’t need him.
That knowledge gnawed at his innards. If she didn’t need him, he had no purpose in her life. It didn’t matter if he lost the suit and his fortune. Ninian had her own wealth and a family to keep her. He was expendable.
He’d once thought it would be very convenient if he could escape all the ties binding him and have naught else to do but study the stars. He still thought that, but now Ninian at his side had become part of the picture.
He was the lonely, needy one. Not her.
Not liking that image, he scowled at the ceremony below. Since when did he need the company of lunatics?
He turned away from the window. Fetching a snifter of brandy from his room, he doffed his heavy coat and vest. Comfortable in shirt sleeves, he wandered back to Ninian’s room and, picking up the Malcolm diary on her bedside table, settled into the over-size chair she’d provided for his use.
***
“My lord? Drogo?”
Opening his eyes, Drogo watched as his wraith of a wife wafted into the room, wrapped in white, her fair tresses tumbling in abandon to her waist. She smelled of fresh air and thyme, with the underlying fragrance of very delicate roses. Entirely wholesome, her eyes glowing with blue fires, she exuded everything fresh and lovely that existed in this world. He had no understanding at all of what went on in her bewildering mind, but he could no more resist her than he could resist water when he thirsted.
“Your Ceridwen did not fare any better at the hands of her Ives husband than any other female has over the centuries.” He set the book aside and rose as she approached.
“Legends do not come of nothing,” she said wryly, coming to stand before him. Or perhaps she just sought the fire.
Drogo added more coals and stirred the blaze to warm her. “Unlike Ceridwen’s husband, I won’t doubt the child if it’s a girl.” Perhaps that was why she had quit reading the book to him. He wanted to reassure her that even though he had reason to doubt every woman who crossed his path, he did not doubt her at all. That probably made him as mad as she, but he had a deep need to trust her, so he did. He would disprove her superstitious legends.
She stood with her back to him and held her hands to the fire. “I thank you for that. I understand how difficult it is for you to believe.”
“Do you?” He wrapped his arms under her beautiful breasts and pulled her back against him. She didn’t resist. She bent into his embrace like a willow wand, always accessible. Why then, were they so far apart? Perhaps it was his own foolishness. If he kissed her now…<
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“Lord Twane should apologize on the morrow,” she said serenely. “I’m certain you could have won without our help, but I needed to do this, Drogo.”
He ignored her addlepated chatter. Somehow, he had to plant her firmly at his side. He knew no other way to do it. He pressed a kiss along her cheek and gently cupped her breast through the thin muslin. Satisfaction swelled in him at her sharp intake of breath. “Have we courted enough to suit you, moonchild?” he whispered in her ear.
She stiffened, but her nipple rose taut and needy beneath his caress.
“Do you believe in me yet?” she asked breathlessly, leaning into him and offering full access to his questing fingers.
“I believe you are the most enchanting woman in the world.” He parted the ribbons of her gown, discovered a shift beneath, and loosened those ties too. She shivered as flesh brushed flesh, and he supported her softness in his palm. The fire’s light illuminated skin as pure as the milk that would feed his child, topped by a ripe cherry he needed to nibble. He nibbled at her ear instead. He would take her slowly this time, as he had not in the past. He would worship her with his body, prove that their needs were the same.
“Drogo…” she whispered plaintively as he caressed her aroused nipple and lifted her waterfall of hair to kiss her nape.
“Let me love you,” he murmured as she tried to turn within his embrace. “I will take care not to harm the child.”
She knew she should be strong. For the sake of the child within her womb, she had to make him see…
But his mouth had found hers, and the lines between his world and hers blurred in a sweet haze. The fire heated one side of her, her husband’s proximity burned the other. As his long fingers stroked her breasts, fire seemed to leap all around her. His mouth against hers plied his case tenderly, convincingly, until she opened and let him in, and she tasted his brandy and the hot rush of need.
Merely Magic Page 23
