Silver Enchantress

by Patricia Rice

  Up until now her words had been soft and childlike, forming in uncertain, short sentences. Emotion strengthened her reply, and there was no doubting she meant what she said. Even the vague hint of a Gaelic brogue did not detract from the forcefulness of her demand.

  “You are the one who has lost her wits,” Drake answered curtly, watching her with wariness.

  With one tragic look of reproach Eileen replied, “I told you, I remember everything.”

  And for emphasis, she turned on her heel and fled.

  Chapter 7

  English Channel, September, 1745

  Eileen stared out the rain-soaked carriage window as Drake and Sir John discussed the state of the roads into Calais. The return journey had been without the nervous excitement and anticipation that had carried them in, and everyone showed signs of weariness.

  All except Drake, of course. Until today, his restlessness had kept him astride his horse as the cumbersome coach struggled with rutted cart paths and herds of livestock. He rode ahead to find the best inns and taverns before returning to guide the coach lumbering along behind him.

  He rarely spent time inside the carriage, much to Eileen’s relief. Only today, this last day before their sailing to England, his horse had acquired a stone, and the drenching downpour had forced him inside with Eileen, her maid, and Sir John. The less-than-roomy interior seemed in danger of exploding with the energy emanating from the long-limbed man on the narrow seat across from her.

  Clenching her fists in her lap, Eileen attempted to ignore his presence, although it was much like ignoring a lion in the road ahead. They had not exchanged another word since Sir John had come upon them in the woods that day. She had sensed Drake’s anger and disbelief as she ran silently to hug her uncle, and she had avoided him ever since. Or that was the reason she gave herself.

  The other reason for avoiding Drake struggled within her now. She knew the cause of his restlessness, for it echoed her own. Sitting this close to him, she could smell the mixture of horse sweat, leather, and masculine musk that was peculiarly Drake’s own, and she could not blot out the images the sensation brought to her mind. She had only to look to see the hands that had so easily roused her to aching desire. If she raised her eyes, she would see the mouth that had kissed her into submission, and she knew her longing for more would be undisguisable.

  The rain-washed landscape seemed preferable to the trap of temptation. She had been on her own so long, it had been a relief to allow someone else to take command. Especially now, when the problems looming before her appeared formidable. She would gladly surrender her burdens to someone who seemed so able to shoulder them. She might have done it, too, had not Drake given her time to remember her position.

  And an awkward one it was. Eileen fidgeted as she contemplated her choices. She sensed each time Drake’s gaze strayed to her, and she knew he presented only a small portion of the problem. Were it not for Sir John and Lady Summerville, she would take the easy way out and simply surrender to Drake as his mistress. But the Summervilles had given her family and home and love, and she would die before she hurt them.

  She could only foresee hurt if she remained at Summer Hall. While she had remained innocent of her past and without the power to communicate, she had presented no immediate danger to anyone. But if anyone should learn that her memory of that day had returned—Eileen shuddered. She could not bear another such disaster. There must be some way of protecting her family.

  Feigning sleep, Drake watched the play of emotions across Eileen’s pensive features. He had been disgusted at the ease with which she acted out the lie of muteness to Sir John, but not disgusted enough to leave her alone. He had only been offered a glimpse of the fiery joy she could bring him, but his desire was so strong that it was a wonder she did not fling open the door and run screaming. The current of communication between them was such that he did not see how she could fail to recognize his need.

  Which gave ample room for thought. From the proud tilt of that small chin, Drake gathered she had a good idea of what was passing through his mind. She was too much woman not to. It just mattered how he went about it. The fact that she had not complained to her uncle of his behavior told him much. But how could he shove aside all the proprieties to accomplish his goal?

  Drake leaned back and closed his eyes. There was a way, if he could overcome Eileen’s distrust. The society he lived in and centuries of custom had provided outlets for just such a trap as he found himself in. Forced to marry only within their own narrow circle, his fellow nobles had found many ingenious ways to marry to suit society and still be happy with the women of their choice. The number of Stuart bastards in the annals of aristocracy alone proved that point. He had only to decide which path to take and embark upon it.

  By the time they boarded the ship in Calais, Drake had come to a decision. His lifted his magic sprite from the carriage to the safety of a boarded walk, and it was in the shelter of his protective cloak that she boarded the waiting ship. The surprise arrival of the Monsard brothers after their visit with their uncle in Versailles had Drake scowling. It would be nearly impossible to find Eileen alone with those scalawags around.

  Their jubilant discussion of the beauties of the French court served to distract Sir John’s melancholy thoughts, however. Drake noted that the young men made no mention of their aristocratic uncle or staying with their French relations. It seemed he was to be given the opportunity to guide them into manhood. The fact that Drake was soon to take a wife probably encouraged his mother’s family in this assumption. What in hell made them think a new bride could handle his motley assortment of cousins?

  With relief Drake watched the brothers follow Sir John out of the rain and into a cabin below for a game of cards. He turned to make certain Eileen would not follow, but she had anticipated him and even now wandered along the railing, staring over the gray sea, her cloak billowing in the wind.

  Drake captured her hand and led her into the lee of a bulkhead. Eileen almost regretted what she had done in the forest. It had been easier to deal with this arrogant noble when he had thought of her as a younger sister. Now, as man and woman, they could only fight and lose.

  “I did not really believe you would go through with this charade, princess. Did I dream those words of yours in the forest?”

  Drake’s tall frame and heavy cloak blocked the wind and rain. Trapped between the bulkhead and his masculine solidity, Eileen could only meet the endless blue of his eyes. “It was an enchanted forest. We can’t return to it, Drake.” The wind whipped the sorrow from her words, but it did not matter. She knew him well enough to know he would not listen.

  “Eileen, you are too brave, too alive to bury yourself in fear as your mother has done. Whatever happened that day cannot come back to harm you. Your shield of silence serves no purpose.”

  “It does not serve your purpose, perhaps, but it serves mine. Go away, Drake. Leave me alone. I can be nothing to you, as you are nothing to me.”

  “Your words lie, princess, as your lips do not. Be silent, if you must, but you cannot hide yourself from me.”

  Drake’s hands closed about her waist, propelling her to him whether she willed it or not. The heavy, humid air filled her nostrils, and the wetness on their lips and cheeks had little to do with the rain.

  Enfolded in his powerful embrace, Eileen had no will of her own. Her body slipped so naturally into the shelter of his that she had no thought of denying it. This was how it was between them, how it was meant to be, just as the bees buzzed in flowers and leaves fell to the ground in winter. She belonged in his arms, with his mouth warm and possessive upon hers. The touch of his tongue took her breath away, and she parted her lips to give him entrance, just as her body would do should he ask. As he would.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as he caressed her breast. Dripping cloaks hid them from prying eyes, but there was no concealing the aching longing his touch generated. He could have undressed her here, for all the world to see, and
it would not matter so long as she pleased him. Terrible, terrible thought. And Eileen’s tears fell faster.

  Satisfied he had proved his point, Drake relented. Wrapping her within his cloak, next to the heat of his body, he pressed his kisses against her hair. “Will you deny what is between us now, Eileen?” he demanded, almost angrily.

  “I never meant to deny it, my lord,” she replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

  She mimicked Gaelic subservience, and Drake’s smile was grim in response. All her Irish ancestry would be warring within her, but he could not refute the title. He was an English marquess. She was the daughter of a land-poor Irish nobleman. Her father’s title might have had some English authority, but he had been Irish through and through. Even had her family lived, they could never have traveled in the elevated society that was Drake’s. In feudal times, he could have claimed his rights to her, and no man would have dared protest.

  “Eileen, you cannot live like your mother, denying the world, or painting one of your own. You must marry sometime, have children, live among the rest of us. I will make it as easy for you as possible.”

  He was right, of course. She had been childish and immature to think the world could go on as it did now, that Sir John and Lady Summerville would live forever and that she could wander their estates into eternity. Marriage was the ideal solution, but she knew he did not mean to him. He already had his perfect match in the aristocratic Lady Pamela. He merely sought the solace his haughty bride would not know how to give.

  Curiosity getting better of wisdom, Eileen lifted her eyes to consider him quizzically. “What are you suggesting?” She pointedly omitted the my lord.

  Drake caressed her cheek, gazing longingly into the impenetrable depths of her eyes. Could he make her understand? Or would it be better to show her? Deciding he had no choice, he explained.

  “There is no longer any doubt in Sir John’s mind that you are his only heir. By rights, if your mother forsakes the world, her estates become yours. You are a wealthy woman, my love. Even if we cannot prove your parentage, you will be welcomed into society simply on the basis of your wealth and connections. A husband will be easily obtained. One who desires only access to your pockets and not your bed may be more difficult, but if you will allow me, I think I can find the right man. Sir John will be content, your husband will be recompensed, and we can be together as much as we like. My sister would love to have you with us. It is not the way I would wish it had circumstances been otherwise. . .”

  Eileen cut him off with an angry shake of her head. “No, thank you, my lord. I cannot see sharing you with Lady Pamela and raising all our children under one roof. I am sure in your set it is all very well and proper, but it does not suit me. Marry I must, if only to acquire a protector stronger than myself or Sir John, but such a man as you describe will be of no use to me. Go away, Drake. You have no part in my life.”

  Eileen tore from his grasp and almost escaped, but Drake caught her and swung her back into his arms again. Lips pinched in anger, he had all he could do to keep from shaking sense into that stubborn little head.

  “Damn you, Eileen, can you not see? I will be your protector. Tell me what you fear, and I will slay it, whether it be man or beast. You need not grace my bed to gain my protection. I offer it freely. Trust me, Eileen.”

  Drake saw his own confusion of emotions reflected back to him through the mirror of her eyes. He wanted to shake her, to make mad, passionate love to her, and to protect her all at the same time. No woman had driven him to such insanity before. Why must it be this one, who evaded him with every word, every motion, disappearing before his very eyes?

  “Trust you?” She stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses, her eyes wide with disbelief. “My father died of trust. So, too, will you, if you do not take care. Trust is for fools. Go away, Drake. I am not for you.”

  Her voice whispered over the wind, a sweetly lilting melody, but her words struck cold and hard as any knife. Drake searched her face for any reprieve and, finding none, dropped his hold on her.

  “I do not give up so easily, my lady,” he informed her, even as he freed her from his trap.

  For a brief moment, anguish flickered in silver eyes, then they shuttered closed again. “You will destroy us both, then, my lord.”

  Before he could make another try, Eileen skirted around him and ran for the safety of the cabin, leaving Drake to the wind and weather. He turned his face to the sky and let the wind howl his misery for him. Why her, Lord? Why not wish for the moon and stars? Why place his heart in the hands of a creature who did not exist? A figment of his imagination? An enchantress of the forest?

  The remainder of the journey was without event. Drake and the Monsards escorted the small expedition to Summer Hall, then departed for their own home. Sir John went to break the exciting discovery of her sister’s existence to Emma, and Eileen silently climbed the stairway to her studio.

  She studied the unfinished painting of the castle on the hill. Emerald lawns rolled across an enchanted landscape, fed by the color of blood. She now understood so many things. With a slash of her knife she shredded the canvas, loathing the fairy-tale scene she had created. Castles built on blood made hell, not heaven. No enchantment endured there.

  Perhaps her mother had the best solution. Why live in a world of murder and woe? She had found the perfect escape, a silent peace. Perhaps she ought to consider the same solution. What kind of blood flowed in her veins that she should wish it on another?

  Staring at the blue lines etched beneath the fine white skin of her wrist, Eileen shuddered. If she came from a heritage that could produce one such monster, might she not be the same? Or her children? Perhaps she ought to reconsider her hasty decision to marry. One less de Lacy in this world would not be missed. If only she could murder the other.

  Chapter 8

  England, September-December, 1745

  By the end of that September, Charles Stuart held most of Scotland—as much as any one man can hold those rocky hillsides—in the name of his father, James. Panic flew north and south. With most of the British army still in Flanders fighting King George’s endless Hanoverian wars, Charles could march on England with impunity. Northern landowners made a hasty assessment of their loyalties, and rebellious youths scurried northward in steady streams.

  The inevitable bloodshed to come held no romance for Eileen. Wars only convinced her more of the inherent evil of men, and once more she retreated to the haven of her woods. Drake had almost persuaded her another life might be possible, but that had been a moment of madness. She would belong to no man. If she stayed hidden and silent as her mother in her convent, she could harm no one. Ireland was far away. The Irish devil of her nightmares had shown no interest in her in the past. She saw no reason he would seek her out now. Silence was the solution. Not marriage.

  Not knowing his silent niece’s secrets, Sir John had other ideas.

  At first, Eileen did not gather the import of the strangers appearing with increasing regularity at their table. Sir John had many acquaintances in politics, and these were troubled times. Not until the gallant bows became a shade too gallant, the polite smiles too eager, the appreciative stares too assessing, did she begin to understand.

  Sir John’s wealth had the power to produce a parade of men just for her entertainment. The thought at first amused her. Eileen boldly returned their stares, making them fidget and tug their lace jabots or surreptitiously adjust their powdered wigs. When they spoke to her, she smiled blankly and continued smiling until their monologues dwindled to nervous coughs.

  But as the autumn wore on, the parade grew stale and intrusive. Eileen almost considered one of the older men who ignored her completely and discussed financial arrangements with Sir John. The younger men persisted in wooing her in the most irritating of manners. Those with a well-turned leg seemed incapable of standing without propping it to the best advantage while discoursing on subjects of no interest to her, for the
y seemed to believe she heard nothing they said. The handsome ones preferred to seek her out in dark corners to teach her the wisdom of their kisses, since their words had no effect. Those with pockets to let and titles for sale peered down at her from aristocratic noses, made approving little noises, and offered their names without consideration of what went with them. Silently, Eileen stared blankly at them all.

  As his niece succeeded in bringing one more young gallant to the state of babbling idiocy, Sir John threw up his hands in vexation. This one she had cowed by the simple expedient of introducing him to her studio—where she had hung all her works upside-down. The fool had attempted to make intelligent comments on trees hanging from the sky and rivers running uphill until the tears of laughter rolling down Eileen’s cheeks had given the game away. Needless to say, he did not stop even to inquire the size of her dowry.

  Sir John frowned at laughter from the small salon. Drake’s ne’er-do-well artistic friends had begun to make Summer Hall a regular overnight stop on their journeys between London and Sherburne. On any given day he could expect to see musicians draped over the spinet, poets spouting nonsense at the fire grate, or scribblers submerged in his library. These young louts had no difficulty in communicating with Eileen, if the nonsense they spoke could be called communicating. Had he thought any of them capable of managing an estate, he might even consider drafting them into his war against Eileen’s spinsterhood, but not one had a head for figures.

  Oblivious to her uncle’s frustration, Eileen welcomed these intruders as a bridge between herself and Sherburne—Diane, not Drake. Her artistic friends carried messages and books, new sheet music, the latest oil colors, whatever they came upon in London that might please either of the two girls, and that they exchanged with the familiarity of community property. It offset some small part of the expense of feeding and housing them, for not one among them had a feather to fly on. Drake more or less supported them all, with the increasing, if unwilling, aid of Sir John.