Touch of Desire

by Susan Spencer Paul

  She’d gone into her room and locked the door, telling both Sarah and Lady Tamony to leave her in peace when they tried to reason with her.

  “It’s all right, dear,” Lady Tamony said quietly, pulling Sarah from the door. “She’s had a long evening. Both of you have. Let her rest. She’ll be more reasonable in the morning. Come downstairs for a few minutes and help me reassure your father. He’s never seen Philistia like this, and you know how he worries. I’m afraid he’ll lie awake the night if we can’t put his mind at ease.”

  They found Sir Alberic pacing in his study. Sarah had just begun to explain, in a careful and truncated manner, what had transpired at the ball to overset Philistia when the doors opened and Julius entered. He looked dazed, but he bowed politely and said, “Good evening, Mama. Sir. Sarah. I hope you are all well.”

  “Julius!” Sir Alberic said with relief. “Sarah was only just telling us what happened at the Herold ball. Come and give us your perspective. I’ll pour you a drink. You look as if you could use a bit of something to settle your nerves. That bad, was it?”

  “No, thank you, sir,” Julius replied stiffly. “I fear I’m very weary. I’ll go upstairs, if that’s all right.” He bowed once more and departed.

  Sir Alberic frowned. “I’m beginning to think London doesn’t agree with Philla and Jules. Perhaps we should leave earlier than we’d planned. The boy almost appears to be sickening.”

  “He’s merely concerned about the publication of his book, Papa,” Sarah said quickly, exchanging glances with her mother. “You’ll remember how tense such a time is, especially with the first. I’m sure he’ll be much improved once it’s come out.”

  “Yes, that’s so,” Sir Alberic said thoughtfully. “Still, I can’t like his color. Or Philla’s hysterics. If we don’t see an improvement soon I shall have no choice but to remove us from Town. Now don’t look so downcast, Sarah. Lord Graymar will be welcome to come and visit just as soon as we’ve put the house in order. And you’ll be able to begin work on your next book once we’re in the country, which I know you’re eager to do.”

  The words filled Sarah’s thoughts as she made her way to her room. She stopped at her cousin’s and brother’s doors, briefly, and listened for any sound, but they were either already asleep or being exceptionally quiet, for she heard not so much as the scrape of a chair or the sound of a footstep. The lights had been dimmed in Philistia’s room.

  Sarah’s own room was lit when she entered, but she’d expected that. It was why she’d assured Irene that she didn’t require help in preparing for bed tonight and sent the bewildered maid away. Closing the door, Sarah took a moment to pull off her slippers and toss them aside before moving to the bed.

  “If you’ve gotten my bedcovers dirty I shall be very angry,” she told the man lying there. He had changed from the fashionable attire he’d worn earlier into far warmer and more comfortable clothes.

  Malachi smiled and patted the place next to where he was so comfortably reclining, his blond head propped up on a number of pillows and his booted feet crossed at the other end.

  “I took care to wipe my boots before lying down. You did take rather longer than I thought, and I’ve had a very long day. If you’d delayed a few more minutes you might have found me snoring. Come and sit, sweetheart. You look exhausted.”

  “I am,” she said, sinking down beside him with a grateful sigh. “If my parents should find you here, however, it will hardly matter, for they’ll strangle us both. It’s a good thing I have the ability to sense the presence of magic, or the maid might have accompanied me.”

  “I would have made myself invisible if I’d heard two of you coming, or erased her memory had she seen me.” He drew Sarah down until she was lying beside him, her head resting upon his shoulder and his arm about her waist. “Were your parents very glad to see your brother?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Did you bring him home, Malachi?”

  “Let us say that I watched over him as he came.” His hand slid to her hip. “My intention was to come for you as soon as I finished preparations at Mervaille—I had thought to have my cook prepare a proper Welsh feast for us—but I changed course and went to Serafina’s dwelling in order to fetch Julius home. As it happens, your brother and a companion were departing as I arrived.”

  “A companion?”

  “Serafina has set one of her own to guard Julius, but I had expected she would. Will the house be settled shortly?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Mama and Papa are retiring now, and the servants will be turning down the lights.”

  “Excellent. We’ll wait until they’ve sought their beds before leaving so that I can place the house beneath a spell of protection. In the meantime, love, you’d best put on something warm and comfortable. We’ve another journey to make this night.”

  “Beyond Mervaille?” she asked, her weariness fading.

  “Well beyond,” he murmured, and bent to kiss her.

  “Is it—?”

  “Another clue, evidently.” He sighed sadly. “We shall have to enjoy our Welsh feast another time. Perhaps we might make up for it while we wait for the servants to fall asleep.”

  Sarah sat up and looked at him in surprise. “With my parents just down the hall? Malachi Seymour.” She said his name as if he were a mischievous child.

  He grinned and, taking one of her hands, brought it slowly to his lips. “You have a naughty mind, Sarah Tamony. I only mean to help you … change into more suitable attire. You’ve no need to fear. I can lock the door and stop any sound from leaving the room.” He pressed his mouth gently against the pulse in her wrist. “Will you let me play maid to you, love? I’ll do my best to fulfill the role to your complete satisfaction.”

  Sarah did feel naughty. Her garments slid away beneath Malachi’s skilled fingers, one after the other, and he touched and kissed and caressed until she could no longer hold on to rational thought. But neither could Malachi.

  So lost were the two lovers in their mutual delight that neither of them, not even the most powerful wizard in Europe, realized that first Julius, and some minutes later, Philistia, quite without knowing about the other, had left their rooms, sneaked down the stairs, and, avoiding the sleepy eyes of the servants, left the house by way of the kitchen door.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Fast traveling was just as thrilling as Sarah remembered. It all happened so quickly; that was the most amazing thing about this kind of magic. The wind rushed about them, and when the air began to feel cold and damp, when she could smell the freshness of the earth, Sarah realized they were about to come to a stop. She heard music over the noise of the rushing wind, and laughter as well.

  Trees, wagons, people, fires all came into view. Sarah felt the hard ground beneath her feet and knew that they had arrived at their destination. Malachi took a moment to steady her, then to release her from the confines of his cloak.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, setting her hat more firmly on her head and pushing up her spectacles. Turning, she looked through the trees to where a gypsy camp was alive with music and dancing. “Where are we?”

  “Lancashire,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Prepare yourself to meet some of my more interesting cousins.”

  “You have relatives who are gypsies?”

  He sighed and pulled her toward the gathering. “My family consists of numerous odd and unusual individuals,” he said. “You’ve already met Steffan and his men, and know what it is I speak of. Magic mortals are easily bored, and tend to seek entertaining lives. The Theriots aren’t truly gypsies, but they choose to live as if they were, save when they’re at their various estates and townhomes, behaving like the wellborn wastrels they are. They cause me no small measure of trouble when they get together and start roaming the countryside. You can’t begin to know how often I’ve been called upon to pull their feet out of the fire. Ah, here is Christophe, coming to greet us. Don’t let him frighten you,” he said. “He’s what might be considered a sor
t of wandering friend to all true gypsies, and can be rather exuberant and wild. But he’s a good fellow and an extraordinary wizard of tremendous power.”

  A tall, broad-shouldered figure with dark unbound hair was striding toward them through the darkness. Sarah saw the flash of his white teeth as he smiled and the glint of a heavy gold ring in his ear.

  “Malachi!” he cried. “Cousin! You’ve finally come. We’ve saved plenty of wine, and the fire will warm you quickly. Welcome, my lord.” He enclosed Malachi in an enthusiastic hug, thumping him loudly on the back before letting him go. Stepping back, Christophe turned his wide smile on Sarah. “And this must be the woman that you—” He stopped, looked more closely at Sarah, then murmured, “Can it be? My little one?” He stepped nearer to better see her in the darkness, then gave a cry of gladness. “But it is! I could never forget the beautiful lady whose path I crossed in Florence. I thought I should never see you again.”

  Before Sarah could speak a word, the man had swept her off the ground and was whirling her about, sending her hat flying and loosening her somewhat tentatively arranged hair.

  “Oh, my lord, please,” she said. “It’s wonderful to see you, as well.” She pushed at his powerful shoulders to no effect. “I never thought to see you again, either.”

  “That night in Florence!” he said, setting her down but not letting go. “I looked for you everywhere afterward, but you had disappeared. You never even gave me your name, apart from ‘Sarah.’ You broke my heart, little one.”

  “I’m t-terribly sorry,” she stammered, glancing at Malachi, whose brows had snapped down in displeasure. “I had no idea. It is very good to see you again.”

  “But how is it that you come to be in company with my cousin?” he asked, glancing at his relative before returning his attention to Sarah. “Never tell me that you’re the one the spirits have sent their gift to? The red-haired seeker? But of course. It makes perfect sense, for you were so pleased when I took you to the gypsies in Florence. I always wondered at your boldness and bravery. Now I understand very well.”

  “It would appear,” Malachi said stiffly, reaching out to slowly but firmly draw Sarah out of his cousin’s grip, “that you are already acquainted with Miss Tamony. That will spare me the necessity of having to introduce you to my betrothed.”

  Sarah wasn’t sure who reacted to these words with greater surprise—herself or Christophe Theriot. Malachi’s fingers squeezed warningly on her arm, and she said rather shakily, “Yes, we met a few years ago. In Florence.”

  “So I perceive,” said Malachi, his voice icy.

  “Your betrothed?” Christophe repeated, clearly taken aback. “Malachi, you’re to be married? After so many years?” He gave a laugh of sheer pleasure and then leaped upon his cousin once more, hugging him and kissing both cheeks before taking him by the shoulders and giving him a jolting shake. “I’d heard nothing of this! Do the other Families already know? What a celebration we shall have!” Turning, he shouted to those assembled around the fire. “The Dewin Mawr is to be wed! He’s brought his betrothed to meet us!”

  A loud cheer followed the announcement, and Sarah groaned. What on earth had possessed Malachi to tell such a bald-faced lie—to his own relative, no less?

  Christophe had already turned back to them, his smile wide. “And to think that you captured such a charming woman to be your wife. Sarah, my little one.” He grabbed her up again and nearly squeezed the breath out of her. He kissed her full on the lips.

  “Christophe,” Malachi growled. But his cousin had already let her go and was hitting Lord Graymar on the back again.

  “Of course you are jealous, Cousin. I should be as well, with such a beautiful woman for a wife. But come! Come to the fire and we’ll see what the spirits have given us for Miss Tamony. Then you must stay for a proper celebration of your coming nuptials. We’ll have music and wine, and I’ll tell you of the night when I saved your lovely betrothed from a pack of hungry wolves intent upon gobbling her up.” He laughed again. “I’ll wager she never told you the tale, eh? Oh, you’re going to have your hands full with such a wife as this, dear cousin. We Theriots will seem tame by comparison.”

  “Another fire?” Sarah murmured as they followed Christophe and his men.

  “No, the message will be given differently this time,” Malachi said. “The spirits seldom use the same method twice. Christophe contacted me to say that the Guardians had sent a message to him through water that was addressed to ‘the redheaded seeker.’ He thought it must mean Steffan or another one of our red-haired mystics, but I believe it must be you, love.”

  “Through water,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Fascinating.”

  “Sit here, please, my lord and lady,” Christophe said, indicating a wooden bench near the fire. “Warm yourselves and accept a cup of wine while I fetch the gift from our Guardians.”

  Pewter mugs were pressed into their hands, but Sarah only had a brief moment to savor the taste of the rich red wine on her tongue before Christophe returned and took the cup away.

  “Here it is, my lady. It was sent to us upon the river that runs close by, and put into my hands by the water faeries. You see what is written there, Cousin, in the ancient tongue.”

  He held out an object such as Sarah had never before seen. It was a perfectly round sphere made of what appeared to be blue glass, filled with swirling white smoke. On the top, arranged in a circle, were gold symbols similar to those on the Donballa.

  “Oh, my,” she murmured. “It’s so beautiful.” The amulet that lay between her breasts began to grow warm.

  “It is what mere mortals sometimes call a crystal ball,” Malachi said, stroking one finger lightly over the gold letters. “We call them viatoris, or messengers. It is rare to receive such a communication. You are most honored by such trust, Sarah. They have even given you a name. It’s written here. To The Red-Haired One Who Seeks and Hears. It is a great compliment for a mere mortal, just as the gift of the Donballa is.”

  The moment was solemn. Sarah drew in a breath and asked rather shakily, “How do I read it?”

  “Only the one it is addressed to can divine the way,” Malachi said. “And each in their own way. You might start by looking into it.”

  Sarah’s hands trembled as she took the sphere from Christophe. Bringing it near, she peered into the haze within the glass, watching as the white smoke twisted and swirled. It reacted to her touch, moving more rapidly as she brought it even nearer. But she saw nothing.

  “You must find the way, Sarah,” Malachi encouraged. “It’s there, somehow.”

  Frowning, Sarah turned the globe all about, watching as the white smoke twirled violently within. She brought it so near to her spectacles that her eyes crossed, touched it to her cheek, then her forehead. Still nothing.

  At last, very aware that she was being avidly watched, Sarah put it against her ear and listened.

  “How strange,” she whispered, and Malachi leaned nearer, saying softly, “What is it?”

  “I can hear voices. Many voices. It’s lovely.”

  “What are they saying?”

  Sarah listened for a full minute before replying, “ ‘Be ready … be vigilant … for the charge laid before you … look to the sky on the half-moon … all become one … or all will fail …’ ” She looked up. “Then the words repeat. That’s all there is.”

  “It’s enough,” Malachi assured her. “ ‘All become one or all will fail.’ That’s the second time they’ve sent that message. It must be of far greater importance than I believed. And the half-moon. That will be the time of the cythraul’s arrival. Now we need only decipher the other clues and we’ll know not only when but also where.” He took the sphere when she held it out to him and with a gentle movement sent it floating into the air. It went higher, spinning slowly, then a little faster, until it suddenly broke apart in an explosion of light, sparkling for a few brief moments before fading entirely.

  Christophe’s gaze moved higher, into
the early-morning sky. “The half-moon is but three days hence, Cousin. Can it be that the demon will come so soon?”

  “If the spirits say it is so, then the demon comes three nights from now.”

  “Then we must make merry before the test comes, my cousin,” Christophe said. To his people he said, “Hurry and bring more wine! Put more wood on the fire! My little Sarah will soon be the Countess of Graymar and lady wife to the Dewin Mawr. We must welcome her to our family as only the Theriots can!”

  The Earl of Llew had seldom suffered through so unpleasant an evening or realized his loneliness quite so starkly. Not even when he’d been blind.

  All mortals, magic or mere, tended toward denial in various forms, usually regarding some personal shortcoming or other. Morcar knew this and accepted that he suffered the same weakness. He had been raised to feel superior to others, to know how powerful he was even among magic mortals, to accept that he was beautiful and desirable. And although he knew, deep within, that he had failings, he pushed the thought of them far, far away and simply didn’t dwell on them.

  Seeing Desdemona large with Dyfed Seymour’s child had forced them into vivid focus. She might have been Morcar’s and the child his own. He’d dreamed of such things. Wanted them beyond anything else he could name. But Desdemona had spurned the heart he had laid at her feet because she’d preferred a lesser wizard—a Seymour—to Morcar.

  Tonight, seeing her for the first time since the day he’d regained his sight, he realized why. It wasn’t because Desdemona found him lacking as a mate. There was far more. He saw it clearly in her violet eyes. She thought him stupid, insipid, even dull. She wanted nothing to do with him, save perhaps to see him in pain. But that was a part of her dark nature that even being married to a Seymour couldn’t change. She hated Morcar, and if he died on the morrow, would dance upon his grave.