She wrapped her fingers in his shirt and clung as her knees weakened. He surrounded her with strength, supported her with ease, and led her toward the bed as if she were weightless. She remembered how it felt to have the hard length of him pressed into her. The special scent of his maleness filled her senses. The scratch of his beard against her skin as he pulled down her bodice and blessed her shoulders with kisses revived the ecstasy she’d missed for so long.
He was an Ives, a man who needed women as much as she needed the affection he could not give. This was the pain behind the old tales then. Malcolm women required more than these physical caresses, more than an Ives could satisfy. Even as she loosened the buttons of his breeches and pulled his shirt free so she could stroke the muscled tautness of his flat abdomen and chest, she craved the emotion he could not offer.
“I’ll make you happy, I swear it,” he promised fervently as he drew her gown and shift over her head.
In the fire’s light, she could see the pain and certainty of his vow in the darkness of his eyes, in the shadowed hollow of his jaw, in the determined line of his mouth. She stroked the sharpness of his jutting cheekbone and felt the muscle beneath tighten as he held still and let her explore. Perhaps it was better that she could not sense the source of his tension. She had a feeling the passion bottled up behind his controlled facade could explode and scorch if released.
“Will you let me love you?” she whispered in wonder, more to herself than to him. He wouldn’t understand. She wasn’t certain she did either. She just sensed his withdrawal at her words and wondered if anyone could reach him.
“I would give you anything you asked, if I could,” he agreed grimly, pulling her tighter into his grasp.
Only his shirt sleeves separated his arms from her skin. Her belly held them farther apart than she liked, but she could feel his heavy arousal pressing into her. She had only this moment to think, to stop him, to force him to see… The instant he lowered his mouth to hers, she would be lost.
“Give me Wystan,” she whispered back. “Let me go to Wystan to have this child.”
He stiffened, and she knew she had lost.
“I cannot give you that,” he answered in regret. “I cannot risk you and the child, Ninian. You must understand…”
“That you would protect what’s yours,” she finished sadly, drawing away, although every pore of her body screamed protest. “But some things are not yours to protect.”
“Ninian!” he cried in anguish as she pulled away. “I will take you in May, when the roads are sound and the child is delivered.”
“The Lords will be in session then,” she mocked, widening the gap between them, rebuilding the wall one block at a time. She picked up her shift to cover her unwieldiness. She hadn’t been conscious of her size before.
He grabbed her wrist and tore the cloth from her fingers, tossing it toward the fire. “Don’t, Ninian,” he warned. “Don’t make a mockery of what is between us.”
“There is nothing between us but this child, and there will not be that if you do not let me go.” She jerked her arm from his hold, praying he would hear her.
“That is just one of your superstitious old wives’ tales, Ninian. Pregnant women imagine things. I cannot endanger your life over a superstition,” he said in that logical, rational voice that made her sound foolish.
Coldly, she turned her back on him and drew the blanket from the bed to wrap around her shoulders. Ice formed in her veins when he did not approach her again. “Listen to me, Drogo. If I do not go to Wystan, the child will die.”
“Harm that child, and I’ll see you burn in hell.” He slammed out, leaving Ninian to see the vast emptiness of her future in the empty bed before her.
Twenty-six
Coughing harshly, Ninian huddled on the settee before a roaring fire in the family parlor as Sarah fidgeted and squirmed and jumped up and down at every noise in the street.
“We will not have the news any faster if you wear yourself out waiting,” Ninian remonstrated between coughs.
“It’s all my fault.” Sarah peered out the window for a glimpse of the street. “I never meant to ruin him. I just hoped I could make Drogo see that women are people too. That they’re even more easily hurt than he…”
Ninian choked on a laugh, cleared her throat, and sipped her tea. “Sarah, you’re a goose if you think he doesn’t know that. Drogo’s fault lies in protecting every person who stumbles behind his walls. He builds bigger and bigger walls, but he can’t keep us out. Take away some of his responsibilities and mayhap he will relax and see what’s around him.”
Sarah didn’t appreciate the philosophy. She threw Ninian a glare, then stretched to see farther down the street. “He has half a dozen brothers to share the responsibility,” she said sharply. “Plus me and our mothers. He simply thinks none of us good enough.”
“Well, admittedly, he has difficulty understanding people who don’t think the same as he does, but he lets Dunstan run the main estate.” Ninian watched anxiously as Sarah stood still, concentrating on something in the street below. Had the trial ended? Did Drogo send word? Would it make any difference at all? “And the rest of you haven’t shown a great deal of responsibility,” she finished lamely as Sarah cried out in excitement.
She clenched her fingers into her palms at the racket of doors and voices in the hall below. Sarah rushed out of the room, but Ninian remained where she was, praying frantically. It had been silly of her to risk everything on such an uncertain outcome, but she needed an impetus to force her to follow her instincts and not her wayward heart. She so craved Drogo’s love and respect that she would forget everything she’d been taught to the contrary.
Lessons of the heart were hard to learn, but she’d finally grasped part of the message in the legends. If Malcolm women let their hearts rule, Ives men walked all over them.
Joseph bounded into the room, followed at a more sedate pace by Dunstan, Ewen, and Sarah. The younger boys were in school and hadn’t been informed of the trial details.
“We won!” Joseph yelled ecstatically, flinging his lanky frame into a chair and grabbing for a cake from the tea tray.
Ninian breathed a deep sigh of relief. Her own fate still hung in the balance, but her fear that Drogo would suffer for his good deeds had outweighed her own concern. Now she could let terror creep through her veins as she waited for Drogo’s reaction.
“What happened?” she demanded, needing to fill the minutes or hours until her husband arrived.
Ewen chortled. “Twane was hoisted by his own petard.”
Dunstan glared at Ewen and accepted the hot coffee Ninian handed him. She had learned the older brothers preferred the bitter brew.
“Hoisted by something a little more vital to his anatomy than a petard,” Dunstan corrected.
Impatiently, Joseph jumped in. “One of Twane’s footmen turned on him, told the judges Twane had bribed and threatened the servants into lying.”
Ninian’s eyes widened, and she turned to the older men for confirmation.
Dunstan scowled. “Twane had them all fearing for their lives until that lad broke down. Seems the boy’s sister was one of the housemaids, and Twane had raped her repeatedly. He decided he’d rather die than let Twane profit from his crimes.”
“After that, all the servants turned, probably figuring there was safety in numbers.” Ewen smiled in satisfaction as he sipped his coffee.
“Thank heavens,” Sarah whispered gratefully, sinking into a chair. “Where’s Drogo? Did he challenge Twane?”
Dunstan snorted. “Big brother demanded a public apology. Twane will have to appear before all of Parliament this afternoon. There won’t be a door open to him anywhere after this.”
Joseph grinned. “That should teach them that all Ives aren’t bastards.”
Sarah giggled, and the men rolled their eyes, but Ninian had lost track of the co
nversation. Twane was publicly apologizing! Such a thing had seemed nearly impossible just yesterday. Their prayers had worked.
Now, Drogo had to believe.
No, he didn’t. He would see nothing magical about right winning over might. She had proved nothing to anyone but herself.
That was all she really needed. She knew it was Malcolm power that had given the footman strength to tell the truth. She could not deny her heritage any longer. She must return to Wystan.
“Ewen, you have just come from the north.” She broke into a lull in the conversation. “How were the roads?”
He twisted his handsome face into a grimace. “Horrible. It was icy, and a hay wagon turned over on one of the main bridges. Tore it right off the pilings. The weather was so bad that even the highwaymen stayed by the fire. I don’t think I’ll bother returning until spring. I can raise funds for my project over the winter.”
Not reassuring, but she must believe what she was doing was right. Her cough was not improving, and memories of her mother’s many miscarriages haunted her nightmares. Her mother had coughed often in London.
“Maybe we can celebrate the holidays in Wystan next year,” Dunstan offered gruffly, apparently reading her dismay. “You will like it at Ives. My wife is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
Ninian sensed the falsity of that polite statement. Dunstan’s wife thought her an interfering witch. At least one member of the family believed in her.
She smiled faintly in reply. “I shall have to time our next child for the summer months. If you’ll excuse me, I think I shall rest now.” She turned to Joseph. “My aunt says to tell you her invitation extends to all your family. Do not forget to tell them.”
The men rose as she did, and Joseph smiled gratefully. “My mother will be in heaven. Thank you.”
Sarah frowned and followed Ninian into the hall. “Drogo will not be happy to have his family separated,” she whispered. “He’s worked hard to bring us all together.”
“Drogo needs to leave you all alone to make your own decisions.” Ninian pushed past Sarah and continued down the hall, forcing Sarah to follow. “If Dunstan is to have Ives as his home, then he should be free to invite who he pleases, which obviously does not include your mother, since that would make his mother unhappy. Drogo does not take into account how people feel.”
“But Drogo doesn’t like choosing between his families,” Sarah protested.
“Drogo needs to choose for himself, for a change.” Ninian said sharply. “Let him go, Sarah. Give him the gift of freedom.”
She entered her chamber and closed the door on Sarah’s bewildered expression.
Heart pounding, Ninian prayed desperately that she was doing the right thing. She was manipulating events as surely as her grandmother ever had, but sometimes, people needed a fresh outlook to see beyond the boxes they’d confined themselves in. No one was ordering them to climb out of their boxes. They could make that decision on their own.
Instead of lying down on the welcoming bed, Ninian opened the wardrobe to choose what she would take with her.
***
“Where is everybody?” Tiredly, Drogo entered the family parlor to find only Sarah sitting before the fire in the dark. He drew his hand over his hair and fought a sudden ripple of tension. “I thought you would have emptied the cellars of champagne by now and all be drunk as emperors.”
Sarah emerged from deep thought to gaze at him in concern. “Where have you been? We waited for you.”
Maybe Ninian had gone to bed early. He’d had some foolish hope she would wait for him to hear his side of events, but she had been up late last night with her foolish rituals. He hoped she hadn’t made herself ill.
Foolish rituals. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, eager to seek out his wife. She almost had him believing in the power of prayer. Only a miracle had saved him today. He knew that, and it scared the hell out of him.
“I decided to follow some of Ninian’s advice and stayed to speak with the judges and a few others. It doesn’t hurt to have a few influential friends, I suppose.”
“Ninian told you to go out with your friends instead of coming home?”
“Not exactly.” He wasn’t much of a hand at forging social ties, but Ninian had reminded him that his younger brothers needed powerful support to overcome their lack of legitimate name. “Dunstan and Ewen didn’t take Joseph out celebrating with them, did they? He’s too young—”
“He’s older than you were when you made your first fortune. I think it’s time you let us all grow up and move on with your own life.”
A black hole yawned wide in Drogo’s soul, and terror quickly filled it. He didn’t examine the reason. “Where are they?” he demanded sharply.
“Looking for Ninian.”
The emptiness gaped wider and swallowed him whole. He could feel himself sinking into oblivion. Desperately, he fought for a way out. “Ninian? Ninian seldom leaves the house. How could she get lost?”
“I don’t think she’s lost, Drogo,” Sarah said gently. “She packed the baby linens and a few gowns and left. Joseph and Ewen are searching coaching inns. Dunstan has taken the road to her aunts’ estates in Kent.”
Stunned, Drogo stood immobile. The dark room echoed as empty as his soul. She was gone. She’d left him. She hadn’t even given him a chance…
She had. Last night. She’d asked him to believe in her, and he hadn’t listened.
She was ill. The roads were too dangerous for someone in good health. She would destroy herself and the child returning to Wystan.
“She’s gone home,” he stated with certainty, striding for the door.
“To Wystan?” Sarah called after him, incredulously. “Why?”
“Because the fairies told her to,” he cried out as he hurried for his room. He didn’t know any better reason.
***
Icy rain lashed the carriage windows, and Ninian huddled deeper in the warm furs her aunts had provided. She hated to let the driver stay out in this weather, but if they did not go as far as they could before nightfall, the rain was likely to turn to snow. The driver had agreed with her.
They’d made good progress out of London yesterday afternoon. The weather had been fine and clear, giving her more confidence than she deserved. She really had no choice, though. Even her aunts had agreed the child must be born in Wystan. She carried their amulets and prayers with her for protection. She had to believe they would work.
That she had been able to defeat Twane proved that Malcolms really had powers and that her grandmother had been right about everything. The certainty overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t explore this new knowledge just yet. Her child came first. From there, she must decide what she might do about the burn and her marriage.
She knew Drogo with his practical, logical mind could never understand an instinct he could not see or analyze. He scoffed at her legends, at her Gift, at the power of her family. If he could not believe in those, he could not believe in her.
She wished it could be otherwise. She had done all she could to make him believe. She had stayed longer than she ought in hopes of convincing him to listen. But he hadn’t.
She coughed, a deep, racking cough that tugged at her insides, but her tea had grown cold, and she didn’t reach for it. She’d bought the driver a flask of whiskey to keep him warm. She hoped he used it judiciously. It was almost as dark as night outside.
The carriage lurched in a muddy rut, and she could feel the rear wheel spinning. She held her breath, and the wheel caught on a rock, lurching out of the rut under the pull of the horses. The duke had fine, powerful animals. They would make it.
The icy rain turned to sleet pelting the windows. If muddy ruts froze, were they more or less dangerous? She hadn’t traveled enough to know.
The driver’s curses would have turned her ears blue if the cold already hadn�
��t. She pulled her fur-lined hood tighter over her frozen nose and rubbed her hand over the uneasy tumbling in her belly. Her daughter didn’t like this rough ride any more than she did.
The driver’s frantic shouts and a horse’s terrified squeal coincided with the carriage’s dangerously jolting sway. Ninian grabbed the strap and tried to peer out the ice-sheeted window. She could see only the ghostly gray of ice and rain and fog and the dark shapes of trees beside the road.
They’d have to stop. They couldn’t go farther in this weather. She didn’t know how the driver could even see the road.
She unwrapped the furs to reach for the speaking hole when the carriage bumped again and she nearly struck her head on the far wall. She must be mad, just as Drogo said. How could they possibly travel to Wystan like this?
She didn’t want to lose her baby.
Frantic, she cried out as the carriage shivered to a halt. They were in the middle of nowhere. They would freeze to death out here. What was wrong? Surely highwaymen wouldn’t—
Something slammed against the carriage door. Ninian shot back into the far corner of the seat and stared as the door shivered and shook. She heard no protest from her driver. Who was out there in this storm? She heard a low curse as the ice coating the door froze it shut. Perhaps they would go away?
A foot slammed into the vehicle’s side, shattering ice from the windows.
Ninian screamed as the door swung open and a drenched, cloaked figure leaped in, spraying sleet and snow over the velvet-padded interior. She swallowed her scream as soon as the figure hurled his hat on the floor, uncovering familiar dark brows, unpowdered queue, and a scowl that should have petrified her.
As the door slammed, the carriage lurched into motion, throwing them into separate seats.
Ninian hastily unwrapped one of her robes and threw it over Drogo’s soaked cloak. “I’m not going back.”
“We’ll freeze to death in a snowbank for your whimsy,” he informed her coldly, drying his face on the fur.
“I wanted to go home weeks ago,” she pointed out.
Merely Magic Page 24
