Touch of Desire

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “Shopping!” Philistia said happily. “For the things we’ll need in London. You do remember, don’t you, Aunt Caroline? Aunt Speakley wrote that we’ll be invited everywhere, to the most wonderful parties and balls and dinners.”

  Lady Tamony patted Philistia’s hand. “Of course we’ll be going out into Society. I’ve written your aunt and informed her that I intend for both of my girls to have proper come-outs.”

  “Oh, Mama, how foolish,” Sarah said as her father bent to kiss her cheek. “I’m far too old for such nonsense. Philistia must certainly have a true Season, however. She’ll catch the eye of every man in Town.”

  Philistia blushed and took her seat, saying, “What a shameful fib.”

  “Now, now, what’s this?” Sir Alberic said, kissing his niece. “Sarah’s quite right, as always. Our little Philla will be snatched up as soon as we reach London if we’re not keeping watch, eh, Jules? What’s that you’re reading?”

  “The Life of Cromwell, by Southey,” Julius replied, a note of approval in his tone. “It’s not so good as the one he did of Nelson, but worth reading, nonetheless.”

  “I should like to borrow it when you’ve finished,” Sir Alberic said, smiling at his wife as she filled his cup with coffee. “Thank you, my dear. Well then.” He looked at each person sitting at the table. “We’ve seen all there is to see in Cheshire, I would wager, unless there’s some minor historical sight of great interest that one of you would like to propose to me. If not, shall we go into Wales, proper, next? I know you’ve a special interest in some of the Celtic relics there, Julius, and Sarah’s been talking of nothing else since we arrived back in England.” Sir Alberic glanced at his daughter. “She’s anxious to do research for her next book. And, of course, I should like to see the handiwork left behind by the Romans once again.”

  “I particularly wish to visit Pembrokeshire, Papa,” Sarah said.

  “No,” Julius said firmly. “You’re not to bother the Earl of Graymar, Sarah. Most especially while he’s in residence. You shouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of his estate.” He turned to his parents. “She’s had a letter just this morning from Mr. Niclas Seymour, cousin and man of business to the Earl of Graymar, stating that His Lordship has no desire to speak to Sarah and requesting that she leave both him and the rest of the Seymour family in peace in the matter of her research.”

  “We have no way of knowing whether His Lordship is in residence at Glain Tarran,” Sarah countered. “It’s very likely that he remained in London, rather than brave the harsh winter in the country. I should merely like to discover whether the house is open for visitors. And you’d enjoy seeing it as well, Jules, for I’ve heard rumors that the estate hides marvelous ancient ritual grounds similar to those at Stonehenge, and—”

  “Oh, come now,” Julius said. “You can’t believe that’s so. How in heaven’s name would the Seymours keep such a thing hidden from public knowledge? Stonehenge indeed. It’s ridiculous. I suppose you heard that from one of those sorcerers or witches you love to write about.”

  Sarah could feel herself blush. “Yes, I did,” she told him. “From several sources, as it happens, and all in remarkably similar detail. I should think you of all people would want to see whether the rumors are true.”

  Julius gave his parents a knowing look. “Ten miles,” he said. “We make certain to keep her at least that far from Glain Tarran, and keep a strict eye on her even then. We don’t want to anger a peer of Lord Graymar’s standing before we arrive in London. He could stop my book from being published,” Julius said forebodingly, “and keep the Antiquities Society from having anything at all do to with you, sir. Not even Sarah’s recent fame would be able to save us from his reach.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes and muttered, “For pity’s sake, he’s but an earl. One of many, and hardly so powerful as all that.”

  “Oh, my dear,” said their mother, “I’m afraid Julius has the right of it. The Seymours have always been a most influential family. You’ve been away from England for so many years that you wouldn’t know how true that is, but your father and I remember far better. Can’t you find a way to leave them out of your writing, Sarah? We shouldn’t want to ruin Philistia’s only opportunity for a proper Season.”

  Philistia turned wide eyes on her cousin, silently pleading.

  Sarah looked into her coffee cup. “Very well,” she said after a moment of silence, choosing her words with care. “If it means so much to all of you, and if you can’t have enough faith in me to let me sort the matter out on my own—as I have always done before, mind you—I shall simply have to cross the Earl of Graymar off my list of planned interviews.”

  “That’s fine, dear,” Sir Alberic declared, pleased. “Then we’ll head into Wales without any fears, shall we? I’ll make the arrangements after breakfast and we’ll leave on the morrow. At this rate we should be in London in good time for the Season, and then all of my ladies can buy themselves some pretty new things. How does that sound to you, Philla? I know you’re anxious to get to Town. Can you put up with our wild wanderings for a few more weeks?”

  Philistia beamed at him from across the table. “Yes, Uncle. I shall be more than happy to do so.”

  “There’s a good girl,” he said approvingly. “Now, Sarah, remember what you’ve promised. Leave the Earl of Graymar in peace.”

  Sarah smiled sweetly over the rims of her spectacles and said, “I shall keep my promise, Papa.” It didn’t seem wise to point out that she’d promised only to cease planning an interview with the Earl of Graymar. She’d said nothing at all about leaving the man in peace … and hadn’t the least intention of doing so.

  Chapter Three

  Morcar Cadmaran, the Earl of Llew, surveyed his guests in silence. They stood in the magnificent great hall of Castle Llew before the dais upon which he sat, all of them clearly nervous and unsettled. Save one: Serafina Daray. She had brought them here, the heads of those clans who embraced darker magic, to face Morcar, the lord to whom they had all given allegiance, and to challenge him for his place of power.

  Serafina stood with a pleasant smile upon her lips, looking as if she’d arrived to partake of tea with the powerful Earl of Llew rather than to attempt to overthrow him.

  She was the most deceptive sorceress he had ever known, powerful and cunning and deadly within, and perfectly practiced innocence without. She was dainty and extraordinarily beautiful, with short blond curls and wide blue eyes that gave the impression of sweet helplessness. Men were lured by her fragile demeanor and delicate femininity, deceived by her ability to make them feel necessary to her happiness, and quickly enslaved by the enchantments she placed on them. Serafina knew precisely how long she could play with the hearts she took captive before the Guardians who ruled as judges over all magic mortals would punish her, and always willingly released her victims. If those same men went away broken, it only amused her the more. Like all who enjoyed dark magic, Serafina understood the pleasure that came from using mere mortals for her own purposes.

  Morcar had always admired Serafina’s methods, similar as they were to his own, and appreciated her powers. They had been lovers for a brief time and enjoyed each other considerably. She hated the Seymours as greatly as he did, especially Malachi, the Dewin Mawr who held the allegiance of those magic mortals who so foolishly sought redemption rather than even greater power. Morcar would have been content to let their relationship continue, but Serafina had made it clear that she had no wish to simply be a mistress, not even to the one who ruled over the dark Families. Her ambitions were far more significant.

  “What a pleasant, if unexpected, surprise,” he said, surveying his visitors one by one, looking into each of their faces until they turned away. He came last to Serafina, who continued to smile up at him as sweetly as a child. She was dressed, in stark contrast to her companions and to Morcar himself, nearly all in white. Unlike most of those in the dark Families, Serafina had ever favored soft, light colors. They aided in the dece
ption she played out among the ton and helped hide the truth of her immense powers. The gown she wore now, partly covered by a pink-trimmed redingote, was a flowing confection of lace and frills. Her blond curls were tied with pink satin ribbons, framing a sweet-looking, heart-shaped face of delicate beauty. Standing behind such an angelic apparition, the collection of sorcerers looked more like a flock of overbearing ravens.

  “You are not in the least surprised, my lord,” Serafina replied, and Morcar was struck by how perfectly her voice matched her appearance and demeanor. It was soft and high-pitched, filled with feminine music. “You were aware of our presence the moment we crossed Llew’s borders.”

  “Oh, long before that,” he said, waving one hand lazily in the air. “So large a contingent of wizards can scarce move unnoticed, even many miles away. I could but wonder why you were coming to Llew when I had not called you. It must be a matter of grave import for so many of you to make the journey. Glasson, Hazelton, Moran, Craddick.” Morcar looked at each as he said his name. “You even managed to persuade Thorne to come out of his hiding place in Northumberland, which is a feat not easily accomplished. I congratulate you, Serafina. I suppose I should be grateful that you weren’t able to convince all of the Families to join you here. Or am I mistaken and can we expect Terrill and Collingsgate to arrive shortly? I know well that no Cadmaran would dare such a betrayal.”

  “Unfortunately,” she said, folding her gloved hands in a demure manner, “they declined to accompany us. They retained faith in you, Morcar, just as your own family has done, foolish as that was. I’m sure you would be touched by their loyalty if such feelings were possible for our kind.”

  “I am lord over all our Families,” Morcar said. “They owe me their loyalty, as you all do. Unless you wish to give your allegiance to the great Dewin Mawr.” He smiled darkly.

  “There are other choices available to us, Morcar,” she said. “The Darays and many of the others”—she waved a hand at the men behind her—“have grown weary of having a lord who has done so little for our kind since he came into power. We have lost much and gained nothing, especially in the past two years.”

  Morcar’s eyes narrowed. She was right, of course. He had made a great many mistakes of late. But he wasn’t going to admit the truth of that or let her use those mistakes to pull him from his place of power.

  “The Cadmarans have led the dark Families from the time of the exile,” he said quietly. “The place of power is ours, and I will not give it up because of some mewling complaints.”

  An ugly expression briefly crossed Serafina’s delicate features, transforming her beautiful face into something momentarily frightening. It passed as quickly as it came, and she mastered herself into mock innocence once more.

  “You’ve done nothing to bring down the Seymours,” she said softly, moving to stand at the very edge of the dais. “And you’ve failed in every attempt you’ve made to destroy the Great Sorcerer. You were even blinded by one attempt, punished by the Guardians for battling Niclas Seymour. But we accepted that, for your intention was to kill a Seymour, and we would have been glad if you had succeeded. But then, when you might have rightfully challenged the brother of Kian Seymour, you not only failed but gave way in a manner that brought shame to us all.”

  One of Malachi’s hands curled into a fist. “I regained my sight by doing so,” he said tightly. “The Guardians had blinded me for using my powers to try to kill Niclas Seymour. They plunged me into darkness and I was left alone to discover the way out again. None of you came to my aid,” he said, fixing his dark gaze on those who stood behind Serafina. “Only the Cadmarans, my own clan, gave me their loyalty. The rest of you abandoned me—the lord to whom you had given allegiance. I had lived my life only to protect and serve all of the dark Families, yet when the curse fell upon me you waited and stayed away, hoping that it would bring me to an end. Unfortunately for you, my powers remained undimmed, and after two years passed I found the way to break the curse and regain my vision.”

  “By giving the Seymours a gift of tremendous value,” Serafina charged. “You might have killed Dyfed Seymour without punishment, for he stole away the woman who had been given to you by solemn vow—an extraordinary sorceress possessed of immense powers who would have brought much to our Families with her dark magic. But you freely gave her to the Seymours!”

  “Desdemona was in love with Dyfed Seymour,” Morcar told Serafina, holding at bay the pain of the memory. He had come as close to loving Desdemona Caslin, daughter of the powerful American sorcerer Draceous Caslin, as he had ever come to loving a woman. She had been brought to Wales to be Morcar’s bride and he had believed her to be his perfect mate, for her heart was as dark and cold as his own. “They were unoliaeth,” he said. “Fated for each other. You know as well as I that the unoliaeth cannot be denied, even by a vow made before the Guardians. I could have held her captive forever, but she would have refused to become one of us. I believe she would have chosen death over being parted from Dyfed. By giving her to him freely I regained my vision—it would have been foolish to throw away such a chance in order to keep an unwilling sorceress beneath my hand.”

  “You gained much, aye,” Serafina agreed, “but the rest of us gained nothing, and lost much. You were so fixed on your own troubles that you let Tauron slip away, beyond our reach. He turned to the Dewin Mawr for aid, and Malachi sent him to America, where Draceous Caslin has taken him beneath his protection. We might have borne the loss of a great sorceress like Desdemona Caslin, but the loss of Tauron has been the final blow. How can we continue to trust you after such a defeat at the hands of the Seymours?”

  Morcar drew in a slow breath and forced himself to think clearly, to not let his features betray his emotions.

  Aye, the loss of Tauron, coming so quickly on the heels of Desdemona’s defection, had been a terrible thing. Worse, it had been a betrayal that Morcar should have foretold, but his pride had blinded him more fully than the Guardians had done.

  His younger cousin, Tauron, had been born with the ability of transmutation and was capable of altering objects and substances into other forms. It was an uncommon gift, found among magic mortals perhaps once every thousand years, and, by good fortune, it had come to the Cadmarans.

  Tauron had made the dark Families wealthy beyond all measure by changing common metals into gold and silver and had brought them foreboding power with his ability to make poisons out of mere water or to turn human flesh into stone. Aye, he’d been a valuable asset and Morcar had drained every bit of benefit possible from him, starting from the moment when Tauron could control his gift. He’d been but a child then, but that hadn’t mattered in the least. It wasn’t the way of the dark clans to care for anything beyond gaining power, for power was security and victory. Without it they would perish.

  It hadn’t occurred to Morcar that Tauron would long to be free of such a life, that he would even dare to escape the reach of his kind. But Malachi Seymour had known and had helped the lad to not only get out of England but also make it to the States, where Draceous Caslin had taken Tauron beneath his care. It would be impossible to wrest Tauron away and bring him back, for he had given Draceous his allegiance by making an oath before the Guardians, and such an oath could not be altered.

  “So, now we are obliged to support ourselves as we once did before Tauron was born,” Morcar told them. “Is that what you’ve come to complain about?”

  Their silence was his answer. It was all he could do to keep from giving way to the scorn he felt.

  “It needn’t be a bad thing for our Families,” he told them. “We had become lazy, depending upon Tauron for our wealth. Our lands have gone unused for far too long, and our skills in making our own way have become dull. Generations of Cadmarans and Darays and all the others once used to strive as hard as, aye, even harder than any Seymour or MacQueen or Bowdon in order to hold our place in the world.”

  Serafina looked at him as if he had lost his senses. She set one sma
ll booted foot upon the bottom stair of the dais and leaned forward, holding Morcar’s gaze.

  “This is precisely why you are no longer fit to be our lord. You speak of losing such power as if it could possibly be a good thing, when all it has done is weaken us. If we do not have power, then we become vulnerable to the world, and we die. Have you forgotten how our kind suffered at the hands of mere mortals because they were weak? How many spirits were sent to judgment through fire and water, by stones or knives or at the end of a rope? The Families banded together for protection, for survival, and only our great powers have kept us safe.”

  The words stung and Morcar stood, towering over them. “It is because of the might of the Cadmarans that our Families survived,” he said angrily. “We have not been overlords in name only, but have ever been the first to fight, suffer, even die for the dark clans. I will not give way.”

  Serafina gave a single shake of her head, a movement that sent her silken curls bobbing. Her blue eyes glittered with unconcealed scorn.

  “You may not be given the choice,” she said.

  “We come to it at last, then,” he said slowly, gazing at the assembled. The wizards had lowered their heads once more, while Serafina’s gaze remained bold. “Your true purpose in coming. Not to merely lay complaints at my feet, but to challenge me as head over our Families. And who will take my place? You, Serafina? A Daray?” Unpleasant laughter escaped his lips. He looked at those standing behind her. “I might have expected someone from almost any of the other clans, but can you truly mean to give your allegiance to a Daray?”

  The wizards shifted uncomfortably beneath Morcar’s derision; Serafina’s delicate white skin turned a vivid red.

  “The Darays are as powerful as the Cadmarans,” she said hotly. “We are an ancient family, of noble descent—”

  “Noble descent!” Morcar repeated, laughing more heartily. “The Darays? You have a gift for twisting a lie until it sounds true, Serafina, but that is far too great a stretch even for a master of deception. You are animantis, created by the One who made all as servants to your betters,” he said, watching with satisfaction as fury distorted her features. “The Darays will always be creaturely, no matter how often your kind mixes with the superum, nor how closely you come to resemble humans.”