Breaking the Rules

by Sandra Heath

  “Then I will come into my own, and there will not be a thing that any of them will be able to do about it,” he murmured.

  Chapter 24

  As darkness fell that night, Taynton left the inn to limp toward the village green. The breeze had died away, and the air was much warmer, almost like summer in fact, but he shivered and sneezed because of his chill. The May Day fair had grown considerably during the day, and people were seated on the grass around fires where stew bubbled in iron pots. He paused to talk to them, albeit with more than a few sniffs and sneezes to punctuate his conversation. Not to have spoken would be regarded as offensive. Then he continued to the church.

  Daniel Pedlar’s forge fire was still bright, and the sound of hammering issued from the brightly lit entrance. Taynton could see the blacksmith inside, his muscles dirty and shining in the flames. The work he was doing was intricate—Ursula’s weathercock gift for her father, as it happened— and he didn’t look up as the innkeeper hobbled beneath the lych-gate into the churchyard.

  A vicarage window was open, and Taynton heard the new twins crying, then Mrs. Arrowsmith’s shrill voice calling for her maid to remove them because her poor head was throbbing with the noise. The innkeeper paid scant attention to her vapors, for he was too intent upon the trunk of the darkly spreading yew tree, where the three scars he’d recently cut into bark seemed strangely bright in the darkness. Three cuts, one to force Elcester to sell the manor, one to do make Jem Cartwright sell the Fleece Inn, and one for the previous night’s incantations. He glanced around, in case there was someone else nearby, but all was dark and quiet, so he took out a knife and carefully cut four new squares of bark. Shoving them inside his coat, he pocketed the knife again and left the churchyard.

  He returned to the inn to collect all the things he would need, and put them in an old canvas satchel. Conan’s fob seal had not been found, despite the inn having been gone over with a fine-tooth comb, and Taynton was now convinced it had never been missing at all. It had just been an excuse for Kynan Meriadoc to interfere in things that had ceased to be any concern of his almost fifteen hundred years ago, when he permitted Macsen Wledig to marry Elen of the Roads! Taynton paused, for only then did something else strike him—Kynan Meriadoc had subsequently taken to wife a princess named Ursula ... .

  All the old shades from the Otherworld were now present in the form of modern counterparts. Three couples then, and three couples now; Macsen Wledig and Elen of the Ways, Kynan Meriadoc and his Princess Ursula, and last but definitely not least, Cadfan Meriadoc and Lady Severa. All bridal couples in the past, but not one of the modern counterparts would be permitted to stand together beneath the yew. Not one.

  The almost full moon had risen by the time the innkeeper made his awkward way down through the field toward the woods. He was glad of his staff, for it helped him to walk, and his satchel of paraphernalia was heavy. In spite of the warmer temperature, the silvery light was cool and remote, seeming to banish the rest of the world as he entered the trees. The scent of bluebells enveloped him as he approached Hazel Pool, where the water reflected the moon and stars like a perfect mirror.

  Beneath the oak tree he put on his robes, torque, the wreath of mistletoe and oak, and then the antlers. After that he emptied the satchel on the grass at the edge of the pool. It contained the stolen chalice, a long iron nail, the tinderbox, four squat candles, the pieces of bark, and the ribbon, button, dog collar, together with a slip of paper upon which Conan’s names, past and present, were written. The last would not work as well as an actual item of property, but it was the best that could be done for the time being.

  He placed one of the candles and a personal item on each of the little bark rafts, lighted the candles using the tinderbox, and then placed them in a neat line at the very edge of the bank. Then he paused as a huge sneeze overwhelmed him. It was followed by another, and then another, and when they had subsided for the time being, he rooted around in his robe for his handkerchief and blew his nose rather noisily.

  Next he took the nail and his staff and hammered the nail into the hollow oak tree with the staff. Then he returned to the edge of the pool and looked down pensively at the chalice, which glinted richly in the moving light from the nearby candles. This was the one part of the puzzle of which he was not sure. He knew from many a dream that the chalice was essential to the whole scheme, but he did not know in what way. It was necessary to guess how to proceed with it, and he was inclined to believe it must be an offering to the Green Man, the god of summer in whose sacred grove both the pool and the oak tree were to be found. The god’s special time commenced now, at Beltane, when spring gave way to the long hot months of the sun. At midsummer, he was said to dance through the woods, reasserting his mastery of nature, but if that was so, it was something that no one had ever seen. Taynton wished to see it. Oh, how he did, for he was the Green Man’s dedicated follower.

  His thoughts moved on. If the chalice was an offering, where should it be offered? In the water, as was the time-honored way? Or perhaps in the revered tree? His glance moved back to the oak, and a part of him decided to hedge his bets. If he threw the chalice into the water, he would only find it again with a great deal of trouble, by which time his hour of opportunity might have passed. But if it was in the tree, easily accessible, its retrieval would not be difficult. Yes, better safe than sorry, he thought as he picked up the chalice and took it to the tree. There he sneezed again as he held it up with both hands and muttered secret words before placing it in the hollow trunk.

  It was then that a most uncanny sensation of being watched settled over him. He turned sharply toward the spot where Conan had hidden the night before. Was someone there? He took a step toward the clump of coppiced hazels. Nothing moved, so he went closer again, but still there did not seem to be anything. Yet he could not shake off the feeling that someone’s eyes were upon him. He glanced all around. “Who’s there?” he demanded. “Show yourself!” There wasn’t a sound, except the gentle trickle of water where the pool overflowed into the little stream.

  Taynton stood there for a long moment, his ears sharpened for even the tiniest sound, but as the seconds ticked by, he began to think he’d been mistaken. Taking a long breath to compose himself for the magic at hand, he returned to the row of candlelit bark ‘rafts’ on the bank. Once again he spread his arms majestically to the sky, but was obliged to quell yet another sneeze before beginning to intone. “When May Eve turns to my May Day, when May Eve turns to my May Day, when May Eve turns to my May Day, I am your Master. Tipper-ipper-apper—on your shoulder, Tipper-ipper-apper—on your shoulder, Tipper-ipper-apper—on your shoulder, I am your Master!” With another very commonplace sneeze, he floated the first piece of bark, the one with Conan’s name.

  He repeated the words—and the sneezes—three times, until all the little rafts were afloat, their flames gleaming on the surface of the pool. A slight stirring of breeze crept up from somewhere, rippled the water and then died away again, leaving the flames trembling for a moment before becoming still once more. To the innkeeper’s dismay, the fragment of paper had been blown away across the pool, out of reach, even for his staff. Conan would have to wait for his moment of truth.

  Composing himself once again, Taynton pointed the staff at the raft upon which Ursula’s ribbon lay. “Out upon the waiting water, Out upon the waiting water, Out upon the waiting water, I am your Master!” As he finished, the piece of bark slowly capsized and sank, extinguishing the candle and taking the ribbon to the bottom of the pool.

  The same words were uttered for the other rafts, and each time the same thing happened. He wasn’t to know that Theo’s curse was also null and void because before the necessary words had been uttered, the puff of wind that had blown Conan’s paper away had also sent the button to the bottom of the pool. As far as Taynton was aware, the three remaining spells had all been successfully cast, and at the stroke of midnight the next night, Ursula, Theo, and Bran would fall into a sleep from
which they would never awaken.

  As he straightened a last time, something made him whirl about suddenly. Someone was watching him! Was it the Elcester creature? His nostrils flared, and his eyes were iron bright, but then he made out a ghostly figure at the edge of the clearing, where the path he had followed from the Green Man came out of the woods.

  He knew that figure. “Eleanor? Elen of the Ways?” he called softly, concealing his dismay that she had not tried to get as far away from him as possible. He had expected her to be long gone while she had the opportunity. Then he remembered that she had heard Theodore Greatorex’s name mentioned. She knew Greatorex was her bridegroom, Macsen Wledig, come again! Taynton’s heart quickened uneasily. It wasn’t sufficient that Greatorex would fall beneath the spell tomorrow night, for there remained hours enough for everything he’d planned to be wrecked.

  Eleanor remained silent, so he spoke to her again, still in the same soft tone. “Elen of the Ways, have you no greeting for your cousin Cadfan?”

  She gazed at him, her red hair tumbling over the shoulders of her filmy white gown. Even in the moonlight she was insubstantial, almost like gossamer. All around her on the grass there were squirrels, their eyes upon him.

  He gave a persuasive smile, hoping there might yet be a chance to recapture her. “Come now, Coz, I’m sure you have something you wish to say to me,” he said amiably, and took a step toward her.

  At that there was a ferocious warning growl from behind him, and with a dismayed gasp he again turned sharply toward the coppiced hazels. Bran was there now, creeping belly low toward him, his teeth bared savagely.

  Eleanor spoke. “Bran!”

  The wolfhound stopped growling and sat up in obvious disgust. The hated innkeeper was within easy reach. A single leap, a hefty shove with the front paws, and over he’d go into the water again. It was so easy even a puppy could do it. Bran gave an audible sigh of annoyance, but obeyed Eleanor’s command.

  Taynton breathed out with relief, but when he glanced toward the path again, Eleanor had gone, taking her army of tiny escorts with her. Bran got up again and started to follow her, but as he passed Taynton temptation got the better of him and he darted at the innkeeper. Taynton stepped instinctively away, slipped on the soft earth at the edge of the water, and cried out as he lost his balance and pitched backward into the pool with a tremendous splash. The water was icy, and he was forced to flounder about again until he managed to catch hold of the bank and drag himself out. By then the glade was deserted.

  Shortly afterward, dripping and cold for the second time in as many nights and sure in the knowledge that his chill could now only get worse, Taynton made his way back out of the valley toward the inn. He sneezed all the way and felt very sorry for himself. This wasn’t fair at all. Fate was being very knavish treating a great Celtic prince in such a way! Those of the Otherworld shouldn’t suffer such undignified Thisworldly things as chills and drenchings! When he got back inside, he would positively insist that Vera prepare him more of the gruel. And he would expect to be fussed over as well.

  The innkeeper reached the refuge of the Green Man just as Conan’s carriage drove toward Elcester Manor, its lamps cutting through the darkness. It was conveying Conan and Theo to the all-important dinner and both were sunk deep in thought. As far as they were concerned, Bran had escaped again, but they knew by now that he would return when he was ready. Theo was convinced that the wolfhound probably knew every bitch on heat in the county.

  Conan wore an indigo velvet coat and white trousers, with a lace-trimmed shirt and white silk waistcoat. A large sapphire was pinned on the knot of his neckcloth, and a tricorn hat and white gloves lay on the seat beside him. All he could think of was Ursula. From the moment she left him at the long barrow, she had occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else, and he was miserably aware that he had not expressed himself very well after ending the kiss. With hindsight he could not believe he had been so clumsy. A man of his experience should have known better on every count, but where she was concerned he felt like a fumbling boy in the first throes of manhood. Being with her was so like breathing the air of the gods, something he accepted as naturally as if it were a sweetly compelling echo that came from he knew not where.

  Opposite him, wearing a black coat, frilled shirt, and white pantaloons, and still unaware of Conan’s various encounters with Ursula, Theo’s thoughts were much the same, except that they centered upon Eleanor Rhodes. He knew that he wasn’t meant to marry Ursula Elcester, and yet here he was, driving to dine at the manor with the express purpose of formalizing the contract! What could he do? It was all so lunatic that he couldn’t deal sensibly with any of it.

  He needed to assemble his facts, consider them carefully, and then do the right thing. But what was the right thing? Satisfying his uncle’s hunger for more land by marrying Ursula Elcester, and suffering in silence? Or proclaiming his fantasy love for the magical Eleanor? The first would see him in misery, the second in an asylum!

  “Eleanor.”

  Both men heard the whispered name and sat forward with a start. Conan thought it came from the direction of the hidden valley and quickly lowered the carriage glass to lean out. The moon shone over the countryside, and they were just passing the field gate beneath which the squirrel had slipped earlier in the day.

  “Eleanor.” Conan’s gaze swung toward the darkness of the woods. That was where it had come from! He called to Gardner, “Stop the carriage immediately!”

  “Sir.” The coachman reined in, and the arc of light from the lamps lurched.

  Conan and Theo jumped quickly down and went to the gate to gaze down through the moonlight. There at the very edge of the wood, with squirrels in the grass at her feet, they saw Eleanor Rhodes. She wore a white muslin gown, and her long red hair fell loose about her shoulders. She seemed to be looking up directly at the gate.

  It was too much for Theo. “I have to go to her!” he cried, and climbed over the gate to run down the field of cowslips. Conan didn’t hesitate to follow, but as they drew near to her, she and her little attendants drew back into the woods. “Stay please, Eleanor!” Theo shouted as he flung himself after her, but he had only gone a few yards when he realized she had vanished. The dark trees and bluebell glades stretched away before him, and the only sound was the whispering of the night breeze and the pounding of his own heart.

  He turned back disconsolately to where Conan waited at the foot of the field. “She’s gone,” he declared, shoving his hair back from his forehead.

  “So it would seem.”

  “But you did hear and see her, didn’t you?” Theo still needed reassurance that he wasn’t imagining it all.

  “Yes, I saw and heard,” Conan confirmed.

  Theo exhaled slowly. “What shall I do, Conan? I will never feel for Ursula Elcester what I feel for Eleanor Rhodes.”

  Conan looked away. “I cannot advise you, Theo.” Indeed, he thought, I am the last man on earth to do so ... .

  Theo looked up toward the carriage, its lamps shining in the moonlight. “Well, I suppose we had better get this wretched dinner over and done with, although how I am going to agree to marriage details I really don’t know.”

  Conan didn’t reply, and as they began the climb up to the road, they heard the bugle notes of the evening by-mail in the distance to the east.

  When Conan’s carriage drove on again, Bran emerged stealthily from the undergrowth by the hedgerow. He listened, ears pricked, and detected a voice he knew he must obey, so he loped steadily to where he knew Eleanor Rhodes to be.

  Chapter 25

  Ursula was as ready as she ever would be for the awful moment of meeting the Honorable Theodore Maximilian Greatorex, whom she now knew desired her as little as she did him. He wanted Eleanor Rhodes, whereas she, Ursula, still wanted Conan. Still loved him, and always would. But she was in dread of facing him again. Saying she would be civil and agreeable was one thing, managing to do it was another. Dread filled her at the pros
pect of facing Conan again. She had said she’d be civil, but it wouldn’t be easy. She felt so sick with nerves that she didn’t think she’d be able to eat so much as a morsel of food.

  Now, after attending to all her duties regarding the preparation and readiness of the meal, she was dressed and sitting in her candlelit room with her mother’s manuscripts spread around on the floor. For such an important occasion as tonight she had chosen to wear her very best gown, pale gray satin with a silver tissue overlay. It was a stylish garment, scooped low at the neckline, with little petal sleeves and a silver belt with a diamond buckle beneath her breasts. Her hair was swept up into a loose knot on her head, with a silver satin bow with trailing ends that floated when she moved her head. She was waiting for the maid to knock at the door to say the guests had arrived, and it was like anticipating the knell of doom, she thought as she gazed down at the ancient, often barely decipherable texts.

  The window was slightly open, and the fire had been allowed to burn very low because the temperature had risen so much since the much cooler morning. There wouldn’t be many more fires now. She could hear an owl in the woods, and from time to time the screech of a vixen. Across the valley the lights of the Green Man twinkled through the moonlight, and the bugle call of the nightly by-mail approaching the village sounded along the Nailsworth road.