Inglesham chuckled. “That would be a most amusing scene. I almost wish I could witness it. Unfortunately, such a circumstance is very unlikely to occur.”
Cordelia jumped up. “You may be surprised to learn how little you know Dr. Fleming’s mind…or my own.”
“I know you well enough.” He watched Cordelia curiously as she swayed on her feet and touched her hand to her forehead. “What is it, my dear? Have the morning’s hyperbolic passions quite overwhelmed you?”
She braced her feet, not daring to move lest she fall. “I am done with you, Inglesham. You shan’t be welcome at Edgecott, now or any time in the…” She fought off another wave of dizziness and stared at the teapot. “What have you done?”
“It is not what I have done that should concern you.” He signaled to someone standing in the doorway behind Cordelia. Before she could turn, she felt her arms being grasped by strong, burly hands and inhaled a stream of malodorous breath.
“Careful, Fawkes,” Inglesham said. “Bind her gently. We would not want anyone to find suspicious marks on my little bride-to-be.”
“You’re mad!” Cordelia snapped, her resistance ending in a painful twist of her elbows. Her captor grunted in satisfaction and finished knotting the rope at her wrists. “What do you think to achieve by this?”
“Only your temporary cooperation, my dear,” Inglesham said. “Soon such restraints will no longer be necessary.”
“You have no power over me or my family,” Cordelia said. “Release me at once, and I may not lay charges of assault against you.”
Inglesham strolled toward her and took her chin in his hand. “Why should a loving wife wish to lay charges against her devoted husband?” He kissed her full on the mouth, stabbing his tongue inside, and it was all she could do not to retch in disgust.
“Take her out to the carriage,” Inglesham instructed his brutish servant, “and keep her quiet.”
“Right, your lordship.” The man spun Cordelia around and half dragged, half carried her from the drawing room and out the front door as if he had nothing in the world to fear. No one else witnessed Cordelia’s struggles, and when she opened her mouth to scream her captor stuffed a bit of filthy cloth in her mouth and pushed her into the carriage.
A few moments later Inglesham joined Cordelia, though he seemed disinclined to explain himself further. The shades were drawn over the windows, so Cordelia could see nothing of their progress as the carriage bumped and rolled from the relatively smooth gravel of the drive onto a deeply rutted road. After perhaps twenty minutes of travel, the carriage stopped and Inglesham’s henchman let down the steps. Together he and his master lifted Cordelia out and allowed her to study her surroundings.
They had come to a dense patch of woodland with a narrow footpath leading among the trees. Cordelia caught a glimpse of a half-hidden cottage, and then Inglesham grabbed her elbow and pulled her along the path. Inglesham’s servant remained behind. Soon the cottage, a well-kept dwelling with an overgrown garden, came into full view.
“Our little love nest,” Inglesham said, pushing the door open with his foot. “It may not be what you expected, my dear, but once this is finished you will have no cause to complain.”
Cordelia’s heart beat frantically in her throat. She locked her knees and would not move until Inglesham overpowered her and threw her down on the bed in the smaller of the cottage’s two rooms. He wrenched up her arms, cutting the bindings from her wrists with a small boot knife, and pulled the gag from her mouth.
“I shall put it back in if you scream,” he warned her. “You might as well resign yourself, Delia. I shall have you.”
“You intend to—” Her mouth refused to form the crude words. “Whatever you do, you cannot compel me to marry you. Shame will not break me, for I and my family will know that I fought you with all my strength.”
He shrugged and began to unbutton his coat. “It’s entirely up to you whether this will be painful or pleasant. I can make it enjoyable for you, but I shall not waste my time.” He draped his coat over the back of a chair and started on his waistcoat. “It will be easier if you remove your petticoats. I would prefer not to tear your habit.”
Cordelia pressed against the wall, curling her fingers into claws. “I won’t insult my animals by calling you a beast,” she said.
He set aside his waistcoat and knelt on the edge of the bed. “Think of your Lord of Beasts if it comforts you,” he said. “Perhaps your imagination will supply the means to lessen your pain.”
Cordelia smiled. “I need not rely on my imagination,” she said. “You are not the first to touch me since my husband’s death.”
Inglesham froze as he reached for her, his expression briefly lapsing into shock. Slowly his mouth curled in contempt. “So,” he said, “you took him into your bed. Somehow I am not surprised that you have played the wanton. What else would one expect from one of your upbringing?”
“No more than from one of yours. And I assure you, Viscount, that your skills will never match those of a ‘lowly veterinarian.’”
Inglesham growled and struck like a serpent, seizing Cordelia’s shoulders and yanking her to him. His mouth ground into hers, his teeth cutting her lip, his tongue obscene in its violent thrusting. She bit down, hard. He yelped and threw her back against the wall. While her head was still spinning from the blow, he pulled her flat onto the bed and flung himself on top of her. She kneed him in the groin. He cursed and struck her across the face.
“Bitch,” he snarled, clawing at her skirts. “You’ll have nothing when I’m done with you. Nothing.”
She heaved against him, and he struck her again. She knew then that he would win. Sooner or later he would beat her into a state of semiconsciousness and slake his lust on her helpless body. She had no allies. No one would come until it was much too late.
With a silent prayer she bunched her fists and braced herself for another blow. Her nails raked at his face. He pinned her arms above her head with one hand and fumbled between her thighs with the other. His weight pressed against her, pushing and probing.
Forgive me, Donal. I should have listened to you from the beginning. I should have followed my heart, not my head….
A sharp, high buzz like the whirring of wings swooped over Cordelia’s head, and a small shape that looked absurdly like a miniature man darted directly between her and Inglesham, hovering at the tip of the viscount’s nose. Inglesham stopped, staring in disbelief.
“Wicked,” the tiny man said, shaking his fist. “Wicked, wicked mortal!”
Inglesham reared back. Cordelia clutched at the bedclothes and lurched against the wall. She had scarcely begun to accept that the fey little creature was real when she heard the thumping of boots on the threshold.
“Inglesham!” a familiar, shockingly unexpected voice snapped. “I should’ve known you’d try such a craven trick. Get away from my daughter, or I’ll blow your head off where you stand.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“YOU SAY YOU ARE…Donal’s friend?”
The Hardcastle’s voice was strained and uncertain, but Tod knew that she was not a female to disbelieve what her own eyes told her. Nor did Inglesham show the expected astonishment, and it was no wonder; the whole room stank of magic that carried Béfind’s indisputable signature.
Béfind had threatened to punish Inglesham for blackmailing Donal, but Tod had no doubt that she had arranged an equally unpleasant fate for Donal’s mortal lady. Unless Tod was very much mistaken, the magic he smelled was a love potion of a particularly disagreeable type. Doubtless it would have bound mortal to mortal once the Yellow-Hair had forced himself upon the woman, but with consequences the human lord would not have anticipated.
Whatever fell purpose he had intended for Donal’s mate, Inglesham now sat well bound under Sir Geoffrey’s watchful eye and the weapon of Iron that Tod was most careful to avoid. The elder mortal had every reason to be angry. After Tod determined that the lady Cordelia had left Edgecott, a per
sistent instinct had warned him that she, like Donal, was in imminent danger. He had summoned Sir Geoffrey to accompany him, and as Tod tracked the lady to Inglesham’s house and then this place, he had explained to her father something of the intricacies of his relationship to Béfind and Donal, Béfind’s true purpose at Edgecott, and Cordelia’s involvement with the Fane. He had only withheld his speculation that Ivy might be Sir Geoffrey’s own daughter.
Sir Geoffrey had cursed and wept to learn that his beloved Fane lady had not come Edgecott to find him, but he had followed Tod with great determination in spite of his lingering weakness. And when he had found his daughter in danger, his cold fury had been almost as impressive as that of a true Fane lord. Tod would not have wished to be in the Yellow-Hair’s shoes.
Tod bowed to Cordelia. “Tod serves my lord Donal Fleming,” he confirmed, “but Tod has made terrible mistakes and seeks to make things right again. It was my lord who sent Tod to find you…before Tod learned that your father was already acquainted with Béfind, a powerful lady of the Fane, who plotted with this mortal to harm you and seeks to take Ivy away.”
She started. “Take her away?”
“Béfind posed as the Countess Pavlenkova, deceiving even my lord Donal, and enticed Ivy with false tales of finding her father in London. Now they stand before the Gates of Tir-na-Nog, the passageway between your world and the world of the Fane. Once they pass through, Béfind will ply Ivy with the delights of the Land of the Young, and she will never return to this earth.”
“But why does the countess…this Béfind…want Ivy?”
“Béfind is Ivy’s true mother.”
The lady trembled like one who has taken too much ambrosia. “Then Ivy, too, is…”
“Fane. Like my lord Donal.”
“Good God.” She turned to her father. “You knew Béfind?”
Sir Geoffrey bent his head. “Long ago. We were lovers, before I met your mother.”
“Then you knew about the Fane.”
“I had not seen Béfind in forty years. I didn’t know why she’d returned until Tod came to me.”
Cordelia released a long breath and focused her attention on Inglesham. “Béfind had something to do with this kidnapping?”
The Yellow-Hair sneered. “She wanted you out of the way, and I wanted your fortune. It was a most convenient alliance.”
“And now it has failed.”
“But it almost succeeded. Do you remember that tea I gave you? A very useful little Fairy potion spiced just for your delectation. Once I’d taken you, you would have been bound to my will until death. That was worth the risk.”
Sir Geoffrey struck Inglesham’s cheek with the muzzle of his pistol. “No one will blame me if I shoot you in defense of my daughter,” he growled.
“And when did you acquire such an interest in protecting your kin?” Inglesham laughed. “All you’ve ever done is think of yourself.”
Sir Geoffrey’s face twisted in anguish. “Do you think I don’t know it? How I curse myself for being like you, Inglesham…caring for nothing but my own wishes and comfort?”
“But now you have changed,” Inglesham mocked.
“I’m free of the opium and liquor, thanks to Cordelia,” the baronet said in a low voice. “I see more clearly now than I have in years. Perhaps it is not too late.”
“If you know anything about Béfind, old man, then you also know you have no hope in thwarting her plans.”
Sir Geoffrey touched the pocket of his coat with an expression of stubborn resolve. “Let me go after Béfind, Cordelia. You take the pistol and remain here with Inglesham. Shoot him if he gives you any trouble.”
“That will not be necessary,” a steady female voice said from the doorway. The mortal known as Theodora walked into the room dressed in a plain wool riding habit, bringing with her a strangely calming air. “I can handle a pistol, Uncle, and I am more than happy to guard the viscount until you and Cordelia return.”
“Theo!” Cordelia said, taking her cousin’s hands. “How did you come here? What did you—”
“I heard most of the little man’s explanations,” she said. “You see, after you left Edgecott in such an impassioned state, I worried about what you might do. As I considered pursuit, I saw this creature in the hallway—” she indicated Tod “—and knew that something very strange was occurring. So I waited, and when Sir Geoffrey left with his fey companion, I followed them here.”
Tod hovered to Theodora’s eye level and regarded her with approval. “You are not a silly mortal.”
Theodora curtseyed. “I thank you, Tod of the Fane.”
Cordelia scraped her hands across her face. “There is no more time for talk,” she said. “We must go to Ivy at once.”
“And to Donal,” Tod reminded her. “Tod fears that she may somehow trick him into entering Tir-na-Nog as well.”
“Would he…would he wish to go there, Tod?”
“He has had many chances, and has never chosen that path. But he has found much hurt in the mortal realm, and the Fane would welcome him.”
“But would he be happy?”
Tod touched the lady’s hand. “Once Tod believed my lord would find happiness there. But Donal is too much like his father, too unlike the Fane who have so long distanced themselves from Man. He must love and be loved. You must not let him go.”
She laughed softly. “You have more faith in me than I do in myself.”
“I have faith in you,” Theodora said.
“And I,” Sir Geoffrey said gruffly.
Cordelia stared at him, and slowly the expression in her eyes changed from one of despair to fragile hope. “Tod, are there any weapons that will be of use against the Fane?”
“Cold Iron,” Tod said, shuddering. “All Fane avoid it when they can.”
“The pistol must stay with Theodora.” Cordelia looked about and found a poker leaning against the meager hearth. “This will have to do.”
Sir Geoffrey’s face creased with worry. “You and Theodora should—”
“I will not stay behind, Father.”
With a grunt of resignation Sir Geoffrey handed his pistol to Theodora. “As I told Cordelia,” he said, “shoot Inglesham if he gives you any difficulty. I shall take full responsibility.”
Theodora met Inglesham’s gaze with a faintly scornful smile. “I doubt that we shall come to such straits.” She tucked the pistol under her arm and gave Cordelia a quick kiss and embrace. “Go to your loved ones, Delia. I shall be praying for you all.”
Cordelia squeezed her cousin’s arm and turned to Tod.
“Lead us to this Gate, my friend. And hurry.”
THE GATE STOOD OPEN. The sweetest melodies of Tir-na-Nog drifted through to the mortal world: the silvery refrain of bright-plumaged birds, the rustle of golden leaves…even the rush of the fragrant breeze carried its own promise of perfect joy. And Ivy, who sat on one of the fallen stones, lifted her head and listened in wonder.
“Do you hear it calling?” Béfind whispered, circling round and round her daughter in a dance of seduction. “How can you resist such music? All you need do is step through, my dear one, and all will be revealed to you.”
Ivy clutched her little dog closer to her chest, throwing off Béfind’s subtle weaving with a toss of her shoulders. “Not until Tod returns,” she said for the hundredth time. “Not until I see Donal.”
“Donal,” Béfind spat. “He has no right to decide your future.”
“But you do?”
“More than anyone else in this or any other world. I am your mother.”
Ivy shot up from the stone, her mouth working in astonishment. “You? You are my mother?”
“It was I who bore you,” Béfind said triumphantly. “I who was to raise you among your own people…until another stole you from me and gave you to a mortal female.”
The spotted dog whined and licked Ivy’s face. Ivy sat down again, her fingers buried in her pet’s thick fur. “But…if this is true, why didn’t you
tell me before?”
“Because she was afraid.”
The voice rang clear and strong, and Béfind cursed her own stupidity. The hob had done as he promised, fox or no, and sent his master to interfere in his betters’ business.
Donal Fleming strode among the standing stones as if he were a high lord of the Fane instead of a troublesome half-blood, his jaw set in implacable anger. The dog in Ivy’s lap wriggled free and ran to him, leaping up into his arms.
Donal stroked the beast, spoke softly in its ear, and set it down at his feet. “Are you all right, Ivy?” he asked
“Yes.” She rose, starting toward him. “Tod found you?”
“He did. And he reported to me every lie this lady told to lure you here.”
“Watch your tongue, halfling,” Béfind snapped, “or I shall silence it.”
“As you silenced Tod?”
Béfind curled her fingers, longing to put Donal in his place but well knowing that such an act would hardly win Ivy to her side. This must be handled with finesse…and there was still a chance she might lure Donal himself through the Gate.
“Peace,” she said, smiling. “Now that you are here, Ivy will have no cause to believe that any truth is hidden from her.”
Donal’s nostrils flared. He looked toward the Gate.
“He hears it, too,” Béfind said, resting her hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “Behold his face, how he longs to enter the Land of the Young.”
Donal shook his head sharply. “What has she promised you, Ivy?” he asked. “A perfect life of endless pleasure? An existence without pain or struggle or death?”
“She will have all these things, and more,” Béfind purred, “as you can, Donal son of Hern.”
Ivy shrugged off Béfind’s hand. “Son of Hern,” she echoed. “Why didn’t you tell me, Donal?”
“Because he was afraid,” Béfind mocked.
“Yes,” Donal said, holding Ivy’s gaze. “I should have told you long ago, but I thought you could be happy…that Cordelia…” He faltered, betrayed by his very human weaknesses. “I should have trusted you, Ivy. I should have helped you understand what you are, what you can be. But it isn’t too late.”
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