Touch of Desire

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “Cousin, please,” Steffan said with a touch of embarrassment. “I’m sure Miss Tamony doesn’t wish to hear of such dull, ancient matters.”

  Lord Graymar sighed. “Very well. Miss Tamony, I should like to make you known to my cousin Steffan. Steffan, this is Miss Sarah Tamony, of the famous writing Tamonys.”

  “Miss Tamony.” Steffan repeated the words with open pleasure, slowly, as if they had a delicious taste that should be savored. “Miss Sarah Tamony.” He swept a perfect bow, causing his long, unbound hair to fall forward. “A great pleasure. I speak for my men as well.” Those standing behind him murmured and nodded. They looked, to Sarah, to be struck at having a woman in their presence. Or perhaps they were simply in awe of Lord Graymar, knowing him as their Dewin Mawr.

  Standing full height, Steffan waved toward the area beyond. “Welcome to our camp, Miss Tamony. It’s crude compared to my fine cousin’s excellent dwellings, but castell pawb, ei dy, as the saying goes.”

  Lord Graymar bent near and whispered a translation: “ ‘A man’s home is his castle.’ ”

  “It looks very fine,” Sarah assured the other man. “Thank you for allowing His Lordship to bring me. It’s especially wonderful because I’ve always wished to meet a true mystic. You’re my first.”

  The men standing by the fire laughed, and Sarah blushed when she realized what the words had sounded like. But Lord Graymar made a sound of grave displeasure that brought the laughter to an immediate halt, and Steffan Seymour responded with gentlemanly delight.

  “In truth?” Steffan said, his blind gaze lifting up to the trees as he made a grand show of offering Sarah his arm. “If that is the case, dear Miss Tamony, then I can only be thankful that the spirits have chosen to bless me with so singular an honor. Let me bring you nearer to the fire. We’ve not much time before the spirits will visit us, now that you’ve come.”

  “Visit us?” She looked at Lord Graymar, who walked on her other side. “This is going to be rather different from discovering a sign in my journal, I take it.”

  “It would be impossible for you to see or communicate with the spirits who speak to our kind,” he told her. “They would have to inhabit a human body to make it possible. But you can hear them, if you will listen and if they allow it.”

  “Are you certain you’ve no magic, Miss Tamony?” Steffan asked as they reached the leaping fire. “My blindness does not limit me in such matters, and I feel it quite strongly.”

  “She bears the Donballa,” Lord Graymar said. “Will it make a difference?”

  “The Donballa!” Steffan said with surprise, and the men about him murmured. “How in the name of Mactus did Miss Tamony come to bear the Donballa? I thought it had been long lost.”

  “It was given to me as a gift,” Sarah said. “By a sorceress in Aberdeen.”

  Steffan’s eyebrows rose. “Sorsha? How did she come by it, I wonder?” To his cousin he said, “The spirits must have been at work, cfender. ’Tis clear they have plans for Miss Tamony.”

  “How so?” Sarah asked, fascinated.

  “I’m not certain,” he said. “They commanded that the woman who possesses understanding be brought to the fire in order to be given a sign regarding the cythraul. They told me the Dewin Mawr would know your identity and be able to bring you quickly. That they should involve a mere mortal in such important matters speaks very well of you, Miss Tamony, and of your usefulness to our kind. I hope you don’t find the idea alarming?”

  “Not in the least,” she said sincerely as Lord Graymar uttered a snort of laughter.

  “Don’t worry over that, Steffan,” he said. “She finds everything about the supernatural fascinating. I doubt you’ve read any of her works, living so far from civilization, but Miss Tamony writes about magic mortals. Indeed, she intends for her next book to reveal the history of our kind, even the Seymours, to the mere mortal world.”

  “Do you?” Steffan asked, clearly intrigued. “That sounds as if it would be most interesting.”

  “I’m gratified that you think so, Mr. Seymour,” Sarah said. “There are some who don’t quite understand what my intentions are”—she cast a glare at Lord Graymar—“but my hope is to relate some of the older and more unusual tales of supernatural mortals. I imagine a mystic would have any number of interesting stories to tell. I don’t suppose you might consider—”

  “Sarah,” Lord Graymar said in a dark tone. “You gave me your promise.”

  “Oh, very well,” she said, tamping down a surge of aggravation. “But only until the cythraul has been dealt with.”

  Steffan chuckled and patted the hand tucked through his arm. “I have little idea what the two of you are speaking of,” he said, “but I should be pleased to commune with you at any time, Miss Tamony. No matter what my cousin may say.”

  The flames before them suddenly came alive with color and began to grow unnaturally tall.

  “Ah, they’re coming,” Steffan said, gently removing Sarah’s hand and stepping nearer—dangerously close, Sarah thought—to the towering flames. “Marvelous.” Lifting his hands toward the fire, he began to murmur in an indistinguishable language.

  Lord Graymar took Sarah’s arm and pulled her back a few paces, and the other men surrounding the fire did the same.

  “He’ll speak to the spirits for a few moments,” Lord Graymar whispered near her ear. “And then he’ll ask you to accompany him into the flames.”

  “What!”

  “Shhh,” Lord Graymar uttered calmly, setting a hand about her waist and pulling her nearer. The strength of his body was dearly comforting. “You’ll not be burned, Sarah, I promise you. But the spirits will not be able to speak to you unless you enter one of the earthly elements, and it’s far better than having to go swimming in the river in the dead of night, which was what I feared. We’ll come out of the flames dry, at least.”

  “We?”

  He looked into her eyes. “I’ll be with you, Sarah.”

  She smiled tremulously, greatly relieved.

  “I’ll be all right then,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

  “Come!” Steffan called. “Hold my hand, Miss Tamony, and have no fear. All will be well. I have you safe and the spirits have made the flames harmless. Are you coming as well, Malachi? I suppose they’d not mind, seeing as you’re the Great Dewin. Come, then, and take her other hand.”

  Sarah could feel Steffan’s hand holding her own as her feet moved—unwillingly, she had to admit—toward the fire. But she was squeezing Malachi’s fingers so hard that she knew it had to hurt him. He gave no sign of displeasure, however, and murmured to her encouragingly as they went.

  “It’s not unpleasant, in all actuality,” he said. “Rather like the welcome heat of an open oven on a cold day. Close your eyes if it helps. Or perhaps fix your mind on the knowledge that you’re likely the only mere mortal to experience such magic.”

  Sarah had shut her eyes. “I think perhaps this is one supernatural event I shouldn’t mind simply seeing from a safe distance.”

  They walked on until the sound of the crackling flames was about her ears. Any moment Sarah expected to feel the fierce heat licking at her hair and clothes, but it never came. Instead, it was as if they’d walked into the midst of a hot desert windstorm, save that there was no sand to scratch her skin or cause her eyes to burn. She’d experienced just such a storm when her family had journeyed to Morocco, but this was far more pleasant.

  “Open your eyes, Sarah,” Lord Graymar said. “We’re inside.”

  She did and found to her great surprise that they weren’t in Steffan Seymour’s camp any longer. They were in the midst of an unending place of swirling color—not only orange and yellow and white but also blue, purple, and red. She could feel the hands of the two men holding her but couldn’t see them.

  “My lord?”

  “I’m here.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Where are we?”

  “We’re still on earth,” Steffan answere
d. “There are dimensions hidden from the eyes of mere mortals, yet they exist. You’ve been given the gift of seeing one. Now you must be quiet, Miss Tamony, and listen. The spirits will communicate to you.”

  Sarah fell still. She felt Lord Graymar enfolding her hand within both of his. Slowly, he ran a thumb over the back of it, filling her with an immeasurable calm.

  The words didn’t come in sound. They were more of a sensation, a feeling that lit her thoughts.

  “They … I think they’re showing me something. I can see it in my mind.”

  “What is it?” Steffan asked.

  Sarah concentrated on the vivid picture that filled her senses. “It seems to be a bell of some kind. A large bell. There’s a figure on it … of a man, I think … yes, it’s a man, but he’s … rather oddly attired …”

  “Can you make him out more clearly?” Lord Graymar pressed.

  Sarah concentrated, but the picture began to fade.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s gone now. I’m certain that if I could see a depiction of it I’d recognize it. Or perhaps a portrait of the man. He must be of some import to be on a bell.”

  Lord Graymar sighed. “There must be hundreds of such memorial bells in England.”

  Sarah could hear the frustration in his tone. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Perhaps if we wait, they’ll tell me something more.”

  “They’ve done with the sign,” Steffan said from the multicolored swirl on her other side. “Now they want you to remove the Donballa and give it to them.”

  Sarah released his hand and set it over the place where the golden amulet lay beneath her layers of clothes. The fingers of her other hand curled into a fist within Lord Graymar’s palms.

  “But why?” she asked. “I’ve taken very good care of it. It means a great deal to me.”

  When Steffan spoke, she could hear the smile in his voice. “They don’t mean to keep it, Miss Tamony. The Donballa is yours forever. It was the Guardians who made certain that it was put in your care, for Sorsha never would have given it to a mere mortal. They only wish to borrow it for a few moments.” When Sarah hesitated, he said, “They quite insist, Miss Tamony.”

  “It’s all right, Sarah,” Lord Graymar told her. Opening his hands, he released her. “Remove the Donballa and give it to the spirits. They have a purpose.”

  She wished he hadn’t let go and left her standing untethered in the whirling mass. With trembling hands she pulled the gold chain out from beneath the rim of her neckline until the little amulet slid free. Then she lifted the chain from her neck and over her head.

  “Do I just … hold it out to them?” she asked.

  “Aye, Miss Tamony. Hold it out and let go. The spirits will do the rest.”

  She did as Steffan instructed and held the chain into the hot whirlwind. It glittered with all the colors in the mist, and the amulet shone with the same bright, gleaming light as it had on that night when Lord Graymar had made it new again. She opened her fingers. The necklace floated where it was for a few brief seconds, then disappeared.

  “It’s gone,” she murmured.

  “Only for a moment,” Steffan murmured. “Wait, and watch.”

  Sarah groped about toward where she knew Lord Graymar was and with relief felt his fingers on her arm.

  “Watch,” Steffan whispered once more.

  Sarah did. The colors about them began to move with greater intensity, swirling into myriad circles, large and small. The wind blew harder, more hotly, buffeting her skirts and sending tendrils of her uncovered hair flying about her face. In the distance—it seemed so far away—there was an explosion of movement and sound, as if a firework had gone off. Lord Graymar’s fingers curled more surely about her arm as the event caused the sphere about them to quiver and shake. Then the realm calmed once more, returning to its more usual swirling and flow. The air cooled a degree or two and blew less fiercely.

  Sarah felt something warm about her neck just as Steffan said, “Has the necklace been returned to you, Miss Tamony?”

  She lifted a shaking hand and touched the place where the amulet should be.

  “Yes. It’s there, just as if I’d never removed it.”

  “Excellent. You should find it far more useful to you now. You are never to remove it until the cythraul has been dealt with. The Guardians also send you on your way with all blessings for the future. Malachi, there is something else—”

  “They’ve spoken to me already,” Lord Graymar said quickly. “There’s no need to say more.”

  “Very well,” Steffan said, his tone curiously amused. “Now we must depart. Miss Tamony, give me your hand, please.”

  Sarah lifted her hand in the general direction of his voice and felt him take hold of it.

  “It will feel rather colder than usual for a few minutes once we’re on the other side,” Steffan warned, “but my men will have a cup of wine and some blankets ready. We simply walk forward, just as we walked in.”

  It seemed to Sarah that if they merely walked forward they would walk forever, for her eyes told her that the place they were in was endless. But Steffan had the right of it, as she had assumed he would. They moved but four or five steps and were suddenly standing in the cold night air on the other side of the fire, surrounded by Steffan’s men.

  “Are you all right, Sarah?” Lord Graymar asked, pulling her even farther from the flames, which she supposed were capable of burning once more.

  She turned to smile up at him, exhilaration rushing from head to toe. “My lord, it was wonderful! I vow I’ve enjoyed myself far more than I had ever believed possible since making your acquaintance. Nothing I’ve experienced before can possibly compare. Not even the pyramids in Egypt.”

  Behind her, Steffan murmured, “It’s fortunate you feel that way, Miss Tamony.”

  Before she could wonder at the words, someone was placing a blanket about her shivering body.

  “I’m gratified to know that I’ve been able to entertain you so well,” Lord Graymar said, putting up a hand to ward away the man who attempted to put a blanket on him. “And the Donballa?”

  “Oh, I’d quite forgotten.” Sarah quickly pulled the chain from beneath her clothes and examined the shining gold ball. “It’s unharmed. Indeed, it appears to be unchanged in any way.”

  “But it has been,” he said. “Where it was once nearly useless to you, to anyone, it has now become exceedingly powerful. It will ward off any powerful demon, even one as mighty as the cythraul. And that makes the Donballa not only very valuable, but also dangerous. There are some who will wish to take it from you. At any cost.”

  “Don’t frighten her so,” Steffan said, pressing a cup of wine into Sarah’s hands. “Drink this, Miss Tamony. It’s been enchanted to warm you quickly. And there’s nothing to fear in my cousin’s warnings, dire as they may be.”

  “I don’t want her taking chances, Steffan,” Lord Graymar said sternly.

  “I’m sure Miss Tamony would never do such a thing,” Steffan replied, ignoring the “ha!” his cousin uttered. “In any case, there’s no need to terrify her. Now listen to me, Miss Tamony. The Donballa cannot be taken from you even in death. It can only be removed by you and given to another of your own free will.”

  Sarah held Lord Graymar’s gaze as she lifted the cup and drank, wondering if the amulet would save Julius from Serafina Daray’s spell.

  “It will only shield you from demons, Sarah,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “It cannot protect from spells. But we should delay no longer in returning to your brother’s side.” He pushed his cup of wine back toward Steffan. “Come.” He held his hands out to her. “We’ll be back in London in but a few minutes and make certain that all is well.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The brother was still sleeping soundly when they returned to the dwelling, as Malachi knew he would be, and there was no one in the room, which was fortunate, for he wasn’t obliged to alter any memories. He hoped that no one had entered the room while
they’d been absent or, if they had, hadn’t also gone to Sarah’s room to discover her missing. But Malachi sensed that there was neither panic nor movement in the house, save for the kitchen cat and the mouse it was hunting. Her family had known Sarah was watching over her brother and had known, too, that she could be trusted to wake them if he required attention.

  “He’s all right,” Sarah said, rising from where she’d been bent over her brother’s sleeping form. She moved about the bed, toward the fire, but Malachi said, “I’ll take care of it,” and with the lift of a finger caused the blaze to stir and renew.

  The greater warmth was welcome, and the greater light as well. He watched as Sarah held her hands to the heat, warming them. Tendrils of curling hair fell loose from her arrangement, gleaming in the firelight. Her face, the side of it he could see, was relaxed and happy. She was thinking, he could tell, of her latest adventure. The smile that tilted her mouth upward gave evidence of her pleasure and contentment.

  His gaze wandered down, over her tall, elegant figure and the feminine curves. One of her hands drifted upward to touch the place where the Donballa lay, and her smile widened. The spectacles, which had slid partly down her tiny nose, shone in the firelight. As if sensing his gaze, she looked at him.

  “I still can’t believe it happened,” she said. “Not just standing in the fire, but the spirits and the fast traveling. You’re so fortunate to live every day of your life with such wonderful things.”

  He might have said the same of her life, he thought ruefully, gazing into the depths of her sparkling green eyes. How often had he wished—prayed, even—that he could cast aside the responsibilities of being Dewin Mawr? She wouldn’t know what that was like, living each day as the Earl of Graymar, always watching, always moving and speaking with care, never able to be what he truly was. At least not in London. Glain Tarran was the only place where he was free, and yet even there she had broken in, gotten past every defense, and turned his life upside down.

  “Sarah,” he murmured. “Come here to me.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction and her lips parted, but he saw that she understood his intent very well. Better yet, her own expression softened with a matching desire.