Malachi gazed at her for a silent moment, then said calmly, “I haven’t come to be made ill. Or to suffer your idiotic speeches about what you’ll do and how you’ll do it. They are most tiresome to listen to.”
“Then leave!” she cried furiously. “You have no reason to invade my dwelling. I did as you commanded and sent Julius home to his parents. He was polite and kind, as you insisted he be, and then he came back to me. Nothing else has changed.”
He looked at her closely. “But it has, Serafina. I’ve discovered your little trick, you see. Your little deception, carried out upon a dear friend of mine.”
Her expression grew wary, and she shook her head. “I don’t know what it is you speak of. No one can practice deception and the Great Dewin know nothing of it.”
“I was lax,” he confessed. “If you do indeed gain the cythraul the fault will be entirely my own, for I’ve allowed my mind to be occupied by other matters. But the fog has lifted, and I’ve come across the spy you set over Professor Seabolt.”
The sudden intake of breath gave Serafina away. She stared at him and said nothing. Malachi smiled.
“Yes, Serafina, I’ve discovered your minion Tego and have removed him from his place of employment. He’ll no longer be of use to you in bringing clues about the cythraul. Oh, he’s a clever fellow, I grant you that. He nearly got away before I caught him, for he has that gift of sensing impending doom. Between Tego and your other spies I imagine you’ve far more clues than either Morcar or I have managed to collect.”
“Where is he?” Serafina asked quietly, striving to remain calm in the face of Malachi’s mockery. Tego was her most valued and loyal servant. She would be lost without him. “What have you done with him?”
“Your concern for so lowly a creature is touching, my dear,” Malachi said in scoffing tones. “Given your fame for cruelty. But you’ve ever been faithful to those who are of your kind. It’s the one thing I like about you.”
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“Here,” Malachi replied, putting a hand inside his cloak and withdrawing a small crystal vial. It shimmered with light and motion. With life.
Serafina felt an unbidden horror at the sight and lifted both hands to her mouth. It was an old magic the Dewin Mawr had performed. A grave and terrible magic well beyond her own powers. There was nothing left of Tego but his essence, and if Malachi decided to unstop the little bottle in his hand and pour its contents upon the floor, Tego would be gone from her forever. The thought was too terrible to bear.
“The Guardians—” she began haltingly.
“Will not care in the least. Laid beside your own actions, Serafina, it is entirely just. You have gained the way to the cythraul by deceit and harm, by imprisoning an innocent mere mortal with the intention of allowing the demon to inhabit his body. Do you want Tego back?” He shook the bottle so that it gave off a stronger light. “You know what I want.”
Serafina didn’t have to think upon the matter. She hated being bested by Malachi, especially having her own deception turned back on her, but Julius Tamony could easily be replaced, both as a lover and as a vessel for the cythraul. Tego was vitally important to making her life possible.
“Return him to me first,” she said firmly. “I must see that he is all right before releasing Julius.”
Malachi shook his head. “No, Serafina. I am the Dewin Mawr, and my word is binding. You know that I will give Tego back to you if I say that I will. I do not have the same assurance of you. Release Julius Tamony and you will have your manservant back, just as he was, whole and in perfect health.”
She did as he commanded, watching wrathfully as Julius Tamony woke from his stuporous slumber and, looking about, asked where he was. Malachi bid him to dress and he did, quickly, clearly frightened to find himself naked and in a strange place. He cast numerous glances at Serafina, begging her pardon in a pained fashion for appearing before her in such a state of undress, and kept pleading with Malachi to tell him what was happening.
The Dewin Mawr waited until the other man was dressed before quieting him with a spell. Then Malachi moved to the center of the room and set the crystal bottle floating in midair. Speaking the incantation in solemn tones, he gave a sharp clap of his hands, and the room exploded with light and sound. Serafina felt as if her sensitive eyes would burst from the pain of so much brilliance, and she fell upon her knees, weeping and blinded.
“Oh, God,” she shouted out with agony, pressing both hands over her face. “No more, Malachi. Please, no more.”
Cool hands touched her shoulders, and a calm, gentle voice spoke. “I’m here, my lady,” Tego said, pulling her to rest upon his shoulder. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. They’ve gone.”
Serafina’s tears changed to those of relief; she didn’t care that the salt made her burning eyes sting the more.
“Tego!” she cried, grasping one of the arms he’d set about her and hugging it tightly, pressing her face against it and wetting him with her tears. “Tego, you’re all right,” she managed against her sobs. “You’re all right.”
“Yes, mistress,” he said, hissing the words more strongly than ever. His arms tightened about her. “I’m well, and will never leave you again.” His voice was fierce. “Let me care for you now. I’ll make a salve for your eyes, and you will rest. We must set our minds to destroying him. The Earl of Graymar.” He spoke with the hatred he felt. “You must promise to let me do it, when the time comes. I want to kill him with my own hands.”
“Yes,” she murmured, calming as he rocked her back and forth. “You’ll have that honor, Tego. Only don’t leave me. Never again, for any cause.”
“Never, my mistress,” he vowed. “There will be no need once you have the power of the demon. But we must find another to receive the cythraul, now that Julius Tamony has been taken from us. We’ve only three days.”
Serafina nodded and uttered a last, solitary sob. Her delicate frame shook, then quieted once more in his steady embrace. They were silent for a long while until Tego spoke.
“There is the cousin,” he said thoughtfully. “The ugly girl who follows Lord Llew about.”
“She’s far too small,” Serafina said dismissively. “How could the demon possibly make use of such weakness?”
“But you are small, my mistress,” Tego reminded. “And most powerful, nonetheless. No one would ever suspect.”
Serafina considered what he said. “They’d not, would they?” she murmured. “Not if we’re careful.” Excitement began to grow in her breast. “But we must be far more cunning this time, Tego. We must make certain she’s ours before either of them suspects.”
“Completely ours, my lady,” Tego agreed with a nod. “It will be done.”
Morcar came awake with a jolt, as from a nightmare, sitting up before he knew that he was in motion. He was covered in sweat and his limbs were trembling. Beside him, Philistia stirred and made an irritable murmur, then turned on her other side and went back to sleep. Morcar slid from the bed and dropped his feet to the floor, running his hands through his hair as he struggled to control his breathing and put his thoughts in order.
They came at him all at once, and none more palatable than the other. A sense of dread settled over him, and for a long moment the world shifted completely out of place.
His life was ruined. That was the fact of the matter, and there was nothing he could do to change it. Philistia had forged an unbreakable enchantment and bound them together for eternity as unoliaeth—a oneness that could never be altered. They would not know happiness or contentment apart from the other from this moment forward. He, Morcar Cadmaran, one of the most powerful wizards on earth, was doomed to require the presence of a mere mortal woman, and not only in this life but in the next as well.
He stood and strode to the nearest window, flinging back the curtains to reveal the early-morning light.
“How can it have happened?” he asked aloud, his voice shaking as he fought back the tide of pan
ic that threatened to overwhelm him. “How?”
But he knew the answer. It was because he’d wanted it to happen, because he’d desired love so greatly, at any and all costs, and had foolishly accepted the first woman to offer it.
Philistia Tamony. A mere mortal.
God help him, it was too awful to bear. Indeed, he told himself, he could not bear it. Would not. He would be despised by his own kind if it should become known that he was unoliaeth with a mere mortal. His own clan, the Cadmarans, would have nothing more to do with him. He would become a pariah and a curse, and they would turn to another to be their leader.
Serafina Daray. The thought only filled Morcar with greater displeasure. Aye, this dread thing that had happened would take away every resistance to Serafina’s determination. Morcar would be left with no one to stand beside him, save, he thought furiously, Philistia Tamony.
He glared at the small figure lying upon the bed, focusing all his wrath and despair upon it.
“Wake up!” he shouted, striding across the chamber to grasp the edge of the bedcovers and yank them back. “Get up!”
Philistia came awake with a start of confusion. Sitting, she blinked and looked about. “What is it?” she asked with sleepy alarm. “Has something happened?”
“Yes, it has,” he told her, not caring that she shivered in the room’s chill morning air. “I want you out of here. Now. Get up and get dressed.”
“W-what?” she asked, curling her knees beneath her and covering her bare arms with her hands. Her gaze fell for a brief moment upon the bloodstained sheets; then she looked up at Morcar. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because you’re here,” he replied cruelly, making the words purposefully harsh. “Are you so ignorant of the ways of Society that you don’t realize a man of my rank doesn’t enjoy waking up to find the whore he had the night before yet beside him? You’ve a great deal to learn, my dear. Now get up and dress yourself.” He bent and picked up the nearest garment and tossed it at her. “I want you gone within the half hour.”
Turning away, he moved to pull on the pair of trousers he’d discarded the night before. Her silence and lack of movement only infuriated him the more.
“Are you deaf, Miss Tamony, or incapable of understanding simple speech?” he asked, turning to pin her with an angry glare. “Do you want me throwing you out into the street naked?”
Her eyes had begun to fill with tears, but she obediently slid from the bed and began to gather her things. Silent, she dressed, not looking at him. Morcar forced himself not to watch. He pretended to busy himself about the room, starting a fire in the other grate and increasing the blaze in the first one to fill the lordly chamber with warmth. With a wave of a hand he summoned a servant, and when that man appeared he gave instructions for a hot bath and breakfast to be brought.
“And arrange for a hack to wait at the servants’ entrance,” he added as the servant bowed to leave. “My guest will be departing soon. I don’t want her seen.”
“Yes, my lord.”
When the door closed, Morcar looked at her. Philistia was sitting in a chair near one of the fires, pulling on her boots. She was in disarray, her garments wrinkled and poorly buttoned, done up as they were without the help of a maid. Her hair hung free of any arrangement, long and uncombed. She looked so small and helpless, and Morcar’s heart lurched within him. He ruthlessly pressed the feeling aside. He wanted to break the unoliaeth, to make her hate him so fully that the Guardians would take pity on the girl and set her free.
He knew how to manage the task. He was a master of cruelty; it had been taught to him from the cradle. “Fix your hair before you leave,” he instructed coldly. “I’ll not have people speaking ill of my new mistress. You must never be seen in public in such a state, Philistia, else I shall be very displeased with you.”
“Yes, Morcar,” she said in a quiet voice, though he could hear the tears she hid from him.
“I do not allow my whores to speak to me in such an informal manner. You will address me as ‘my lord’ or ‘Lord Llew.’ Do you understand me?”
She nodded this time, not looking at him. Standing, she moved to pick up a handful of hairpins that were scattered about the floor, then stood before one of the many mirrors in the room—Morcar had never tried to deny or hide his vanity—and began to put her hair up. Without the help of a maid, it looked awful. Morcar knew it would be better to send her back to her people looking her best, but he no longer cared what they thought or said or demanded. His life was ruined. Nothing else mattered.
“Are you finished, then?” he asked impatiently. “Good. Then leave. One of the servants will show you where the kitchen is.”
Philistia slowly went to collect the dark cloak she’d worn the night before and, putting it on, drew the hood over her head to hide her tear-streaked face.
“Will I see you soon, my lord?” she asked softly.
“That’s no concern of yours,” he said curtly, opening the door to usher her out. “When I want you again, I’ll summon you. You need only be ready to come when I call. Do not disturb me otherwise.”
She moved to the door, then hesitated. “My lord,” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t expect anything but—”
“But what?” he said fiercely. “Did you think I would fall in love with you simply because you gave a fair performance in bed? That I might marry you?” He laughed cruelly. “Surely you can’t have been so foolish as to believe that bedding me would win you a rich and titled husband?” He moved nearer, gazing at her with all the fury he felt. “I’ve had far lovelier and more satisfying partners than you, my pet, and never fallen prey to their wiles. I’ll keep you for as long as you please me, and when I’m done I’ll throw you back into the pond like the worthless little fish you are. If you’re quite good I might reward you with a pretty necklace, but that’s the most you’ll ever have from me, Philistia Tamony. Never hope for more.”
She lifted her face to him then, and he saw at last the measure of pain he’d given her. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her eyes filled with misery.
“I suppose it will do no good to tell you,” she murmured, “but I have no need for a rich husband, for my parents left me very wealthy. I came to you last night because I knew Desdemona Seymour had hurt you, and I wanted to soothe that hurt. And I lay with you and g-gave myself to you because I love you. There was no other reason.” Lowering her head, she added, “You need not see me again, my lord. I don’t expect anything of you.”
She walked out the open door and into the hallway, moving toward the stairs. Morcar pressed his lips together tightly to keep from calling her back and with every ounce of strength he possessed forced his body to remain still until he felt her presence leaving his home. Only then did he shut the door.
He raced to the window and gazed down, watching as she stepped out of the servants’ entrance to the pavement, where a hack waited to take her home. But she didn’t approach the waiting vehicle. Instead, Philistia turned and began to walk away, her head bowed as if she was grieving. Morcar stood, never moving from the window, watching until her small gray figure at last disappeared in the distance.
Sarah came awake at the touch of gentle fingers stroking against her cheek, though it took an effort to do so. She was so weary she didn’t want to rise just yet.
“Go away,” she murmured, grumpily pushing the hand aside.
A soft chuckle greeted the words. “I’m sorry to wake you, love, but there’s someone who wishes to see you.”
“Who is it?” she asked sleepily, cracking her eyes open to find Malachi standing over her. He looked as weary as she felt and was still dressed in the same garments that he’d worn when he’d brought her home from the gypsy camp. Had he even been home to Mervaille to sleep?
Turning aside, he motioned with his hand toward the door. “See for yourself,” he said.
Sarah pushed into a sitting position and fumbled for her spectacles, which Malachi pressed into her hands. Put
ting them on, she saw Julius standing in the doorway, looking haggard and anxious. But his eyes, she saw with a leap of joy, were clear again. It was Julius who gazed back at her.
With a glad cry Sarah pushed the covers away and stood, hurrying to greet him with arms held wide.
“Oh, thank God,” she said as he caught her in his embrace. “Thank God you’re all right.”
“Can you ever forgive me, Sarah?” he asked, his voice thick with tears. “I can’t bear to think of what I’ve done.”
“Oh no,” Sarah murmured, pushing back to look at him. “You don’t remember, do you?” She glanced at Malachi, who sat upon the bed. “I had so hoped he’d not remember.”
“I didn’t want to forget,” Julius told her, wiping his wet face with the back of one hand. “I asked Lord Graymar not to alter my memories. Not until I can make things right. Will you forgive me, Sarah? I don’t deserve it. I shall never forgive myself, especially for striking you.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she said gently, stroking his hair back from his beloved face. “You didn’t know what you did, and Malachi healed me at once. I’m only thankful that you’re free and safely home again. And,” she added with a jesting smile, “that you’ll never again naysay me when I speak about magic.”
“No, Sarah,” he said, and began to weep anew. “Never again.”
She hugged him and wept a little, too. Looking back to Malachi, she asked, “How did you manage it?”
He told her briefly of taking Tego unawares at Professor Seabolt’s house, of using magic to trap his essence in a bottle, and of his visit to Serafina. By the time Malachi finished, Julius was nearly incoherent with exhaustion.
With Malachi’s help Sarah got Julius undressed and into bed. The moment they returned to her bedchamber Sarah grasped Malachi by the lapels of his coat, pushed him against the nearest wall, and kissed him soundly. And then, before he could breathe or speak, kissed him again for good measure.
“You are the most wonderful man on earth,” she told him. “And I love you very much. Thank you for bringing him home.”
Touch of Desire Page 34
