by M. J. Putney
“Remind me to avoid the kissing bough,” Cynthia said dryly.
The others laughed. They thought she was joking.
CHAPTER 10
Dancing was wonderful! Cynthia had never felt so exhilarated. “Apley House” was as simple as Jack said, a longways dance with men and women facing each other. Couples worked their way up the lines with steps and turns and swings. The movement and general exuberance stirred her blood and made her want to laugh out loud.
She had the heretical thought that this informal dance was far more fun than a London ball. There critical eyes would be watching and knives would be waiting to slice the reputation of any girl who set a foot wrong.
Here the only danger was the kissing bough, which hung by the doorway. A globe formed of vine, it was decorated with holly and ribbons and bright oranges. A giant bunch of mistletoe was tied below with golden ribbon. The bough was getting steady traffic as couples came from other rooms to stand under it. Jack certainly took advantage, kissing any female between the ages of twelve and eighty.
Cynthia made sure to keep her distance. She was happy to dance with the locals, but kisses were quite another matter.
At the end of the first dance, Jack said with a grin, “Are you game for more?”
Her hair was falling down around her shoulders, but she didn’t care. “Yes!”
An ancient man, at least fifty, approached her. “May I have the next dance, Lady Cynthia?” the old fellow asked. “I’ve always wanted to dance with a real lady, and you must be the prettiest lady in England!”
“Who could turn down such an invitation?” she said with a laugh. It was a square dance, and the old fellow turned out to be very spry despite his advanced years.
Her next partner was a gangling boy younger than she, and even more ignorant of dance steps. They still had a fine time.
After a particularly energetic circle dance, she waved off an invitation to dance the next set. “I’m exhausted,” she panted. “I need to recover.”
“I can help with that,” Jack said, laughing as he approached. “Come, I’ll give you some energy.”
He caught her hand and spun her under the kissing bough. His arms circled her waist and she found herself drawn against his broad chest. He was strong, and taller than she’d realized.
She turned up her face and started to say, “Enough of this nonsense!” Before she could get the words out, his mouth descended on hers.
Energy blazed through her like raw lightning. Her sense of who she was vanished as she clung to him, her knees too weak to support her.
Dear God in heaven, not Jack Rainford! Please, not Jack Rainford! As wits and strength returned, she jerked away from him, wanting to flee fast and far.
Jack, the charmer who flirted with all the girls, was staring at her as if he’d just been clubbed. He swallowed hard. “S … sorry, I forgot how much power you have. I sent too much energy.”
Retaining barely enough sense not to run and make a spectacle of herself, Cynthia said tightly, “I’m going home now.”
“It’s almost midnight,” he agreed. “Time to collect our cloaks.”
Ride again on that ugly horse with her arms around Jack’s waist? That was not going to happen! “I’ll walk. It’s only a couple of miles.”
“You are not walking that far alone in the middle of the night!” Accurately guessing her thoughts, he continued, “We’ll take the gig.”
The seat should be wide enough for her to keep her distance, and Cynthia privately admitted that she didn’t want to walk home alone at this hour. “Very well.”
She pivoted away and stalked through the house, uncomfortably aware that Jack was just behind her. Was there anyone else she could ask to take her home? Not really. Jack was the only one she knew well, and much as she wanted to avoid him, she knew he wouldn’t cause trouble. If he did, she’d … she’d call down lightning to fry him!
Most guests had gone home already. The dancers were staying the latest. Music and partners for dancing were rare. No one wanted to waste the opportunity.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Brewster and Lily Rainford and another woman Cynthia didn’t recognize were chatting over cups of tea. The cook glanced up when Cynthia and Jack entered. “You looked like you enjoyed the dancing! Lady Cynthia, would you like to take some food back to school?”
“How kind of you.” Cynthia donned her cloak without waiting for Jack to help. “I would like that.”
Jack lifted his own cloak. “I’ll go harness the gig.”
As he moved toward the door, Lily said, “If you’re still interested in being tutored in hearth-witch magic, Lady Cynthia, midmorning the day after tomorrow would be good for me. Things will have quieted down by then.”
Cynthia almost said no, but a long, cold winter stretched ahead. “Thank you. I shall look forward to the lesson.”
Mrs. Brewster found a basket and began to pack sweets and savories and even a small jug of cider. The basket was brimming by the time she finished.
When it could hold no more, she tied a red ribbon on the handle and set it on the table by the door. “That was one mighty fine plum pudding, Lady Cynthia,” she said. “It gave me ideas for the ones I’ll make next Christmas.”
Cynthia was certainly getting great benefit from Lady Fairmount’s pudding. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Rainford. It’s been a lovely evening.”
“Please come again. Schools have their uses, but they aren’t a home.” Lily’s eyes were compassionate.
Cynthia turned away sharply, afraid of what the other woman might see. “Till day after tomorrow, then. I’ll walk over.”
“It’s a pleasant walk in good weather, and I know you can assure that weather is good,” Lily said with a chuckle.
Jack entered and lifted Mrs. Brewster’s basket. “I’ll have you home in no time.”
Silently she accompanied him outside. The gig had a folding hood which Jack had pulled up to protect them from the wind. Even for weather mages, sometimes simple solutions were best.
Jack had attached several mage lights to the gig to illuminate the road. The light also showed that the skewbald pony between the shafts was almost as ugly as Pegasus. Besides splotchy coloring, it was cow-hocked and mule-eared. Refusing his hand, she climbed into the gig, moving as far to the edge of the seat as she could. “Are all your horses ugly?”
“Most of them.” He climbed in and collected the reins. As he did, a dog galloped up and leaped into the gig. It landed in front of their feet with an impact that made the small carriage shake.
Cynthia instinctively drew away. “What is that?”
“Rex.” Jack scratched the dog’s jaw. Rex moaned with pleasure. “He likes riding in carriages.”
The beast had a flat, wrinkly bulldog face and an irregular patch over one eye, and half his left ear had been chewed off. Staring at Rex with horrified fascination, she asked, “Do you collect ugly animals?”
“Damaged creatures need love more than the beautiful ones do.” He scratched Rex’s ears. “Treat a wounded animal like Rex well, and you’ll have a friend forever.”
As Jack set the gig into motion, Rex flopped over Cynthia’s feet. At least his warm, chunky body would keep them warm.
The night was very silent. Houses were dark as the inhabitants slept off the celebrations of Christmas. As they turned onto the road that led back to Lackland, Jack said, “I’ll pick you up at the Labyrinth day after tomorrow to bring you to the Grange for your lesson with my mother.”
Cynthia scowled. “I’ll walk.”
“I’d be happy to collect you. The walk is going to be cold until you get better at hearth witchery.”
“I’ll walk!”
He glanced at her, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you so angry with me?”
“You have to ask?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m guessing it’s because I kissed you, but I don’t know why you’re so upset.” Jack slowed the gig for a sharp turn. “It was just a Christmas kiss und
er the kissing bough. Everyone does it. I kissed every girl there.”
“I noticed that,” Cynthia said frostily.
“As the senior male of Swallow Grange,” he explained, “it was my duty to make sure that no female guest was neglected.”
“I doubt that any other kisses were the same,” she snapped.
“That’s true,” he admitted. “I really did only intend to give you some energy and a kiss would be a pleasant way to do it. I didn’t expect … what happened. It’s the first time I’ve kissed a girl who was such a strong mage.”
“If you want to try that again, kiss Tory or Elspeth.”
“Allarde wouldn’t like it if I kissed Tory, and Elspeth would laugh in my face if I tried,” he said with a grin. “None of the other female Irregulars are as strong.”
“As long as you don’t kiss me!” She felt on the verge of weeping.
Jack halted the horse and looked at her with a frown. “What’s wrong, Cynthia? Did that energy flare hurt you? Or do you just hate kissing me?”
She stared down at ugly snoozing Rex. “It didn’t hurt, though it was upsetting. It’s just … I thought you were my friend, and friends don’t kiss.”
“Why kiss a girl who isn’t a friend?” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “I wouldn’t want to kiss a girl I didn’t like!”
She pulled her cloak as tightly as she could. “You’re not a girl.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you noticed. That doesn’t explain why you were so upset.”
She bit her lip, suspecting that he’d keep asking until he got an answer. She must give him part of the truth. “Starting when I was about twelve, too many men have tried to kiss me when I don’t want them to.”
Jack winced. “I should have realized that a girl as beautiful as you might attract too much male attention. I’m really, really sorry I became another irritating man who tried to take something I wasn’t entitled to.”
“So am I,” she whispered.
He swore under his breath. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Cynthia. Would it even the score if you slapped me for an improper advance? I’ll hold still for you.”
She glanced up and saw real remorse on his face. “I’d have trouble striking you in cold blood, so let’s just pretend it never happened.” His gaze was so shrewd that she turned away.
He set the gig in motion. “Since that never happened, how about I collect you for the trip to Swallow Grange day after tomorrow?”
She sniffed. “Riding pillion was interesting once. Twice would be excessive.”
“I can bring the gig. Better yet, if you have a riding habit, would you like to ride? We have a couple of good hacks in the stable.”
“Real riding with a proper sidesaddle?”
“Haven’t you noticed that I’m always proper?” he said grandly.
That was so absurd that a reluctant smile escaped her. “If you have a decent horse that isn’t too ugly, I’d love to ride.”
“Then I’ll meet you in the Labyrinth around ten o’clock.”
Cynthia nodded. They didn’t speak during the rest of the trip to the beech wood. Jack tethered the horse and walked her to the boulder that concealed the tunnel entrance.
He touched the underside of a stone edge and violet light flared. As the heavy door swung open, he said, “I should walk you back to the school, but I don’t want to leave Cleopatra standing in a cold wind for long.”
“Cleopatra.” Cynthia rolled her eyes. “The perfect name for a mule-eared skewbald. Don’t worry, I’m in no danger.” She stepped into the tunnel. “Thank you for inviting me. The evening was indeed more amusing than staying in my room.”
“Are we still friends, Cynthia?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want to be at odds with the only other decent weather mage in Kent.”
His soft voice curled through her. She paused and looked back. He looked very solid. Misleadingly reliable. Her hands clenched under her cloak. Within limits, he could be trusted. And she didn’t want him to travel through the mirror and perhaps become lost forever. “We’re still friends. Good night, Jack.”
Conjuring up a mage light, she moved swiftly down the steps. There were other things Jack might be, in theory.
But only friendship was safe.
CHAPTER 11
Tory borrowed Cecilia’s well-mannered mount, Primrose, for her ride with Allarde. He showed up to collect her with a groom behind him. She had one of her brother’s grooms in attendance. All very proper.
But as soon as they headed over the hills toward his family’s estate, she gave a whoop and urged Primrose into a gallop, her dark red cloak flaring behind her. The sky was a brilliant blue and sunlight blazed off the light dry snow that had fallen in the night.
The mare’s hooves kicked up little white clouds. Tory felt wonderfully free. It was almost like flying.
Laughing, Allarde followed a couple of lengths behind. “I should have guessed you’d be a neck or nothing rider!”
The grooms followed at a distance, giving them the illusion of privacy. After the first glorious blaze of speed, Tory slowed the mare to a more moderate pace. Allarde fell in beside her. She gazed at the rolling hills, crisp and beautiful in the sparkling snow. “I’ve only visited Layton once before this trip, when my nephew was born. I didn’t see enough of the area to realize how beautiful it is.”
“There is no lovelier place in England.” He pointed with his riding crop. “As soon as we cross that stream, we’ll be on Westover land.”
They trotted over the stream on a old humped stone bridge. As they continued up the opposite hill, he said, “I don’t suppose that Kemperton Hall is that different from your father’s estate, but I’m glad to have the chance to show it to you.”
Tory glanced toward Allarde and was surprised to see a faint glow of magic around him. The power had a flavor unlike any she’d seen before. It seemed to flow from the land itself, humming in tune with his nature like a harp string.
“Justin,” she asked, amazed, “did you know that there’s a magical bond that ties you to this land? A glow of power appeared as soon as we rode over the bridge.”
His dark brows arched. “I didn’t realize the connection is visible to anyone, but it doesn’t surprise me. My family’s roots go centuries deep here, to well before the Norman conquest. A Norman lord married the Saxon heiress to the land. How long her family was here before that, I can’t even guess.”
All Lackland students lost a great deal if they embraced magery, but she realized uneasily just how great Allarde’s loss would be if his father disinherited him. He would lose not only the title and vast fortune, but the land to which he was mystically connected. His father didn’t want to disinherit him—Allarde was an only child so there was no younger brother who could step in. But if Allarde embraced his magic openly, the duke would have no choice.
They continued riding. Over the next hill, they met a man dressed as a farmer strolling with his dog and puffing his pipe contentedly. Allarde pulled to a halt and dismounted. “Good day to you, Mr. Hatter.” He bent and ruffled the dog’s ears. As the dog sighed blissfully, Allarde continued, “You and Roddy seem to be in fine fettle.”
“Aye, Lord Allarde, we are. ’Tis the most restful time of the year for a farmer.” Mr. Hatter grinned. “And I’m still walking off the Christmas feast my good wife provided.” He glanced at Tory and gave her a polite nod.
She smiled back. It was clear that Allarde and his family were liked and respected by their tenants.
After a few minutes’ chat which ended when Hatter asked Allarde to pass a message to the estate steward, they resumed their ride. When they were out of earshot, Tory asked, “Do you know everyone on the estate by name?”
“Most of them.” He grinned. “Though one of the tenants recently married a girl from Shropshire and I haven’t met her yet.”
He really did belong here. It was lovely to see how connected he was to the land, but the knowledge knotted Tory’s stomach.
A
llarde turned into a lane leading up another hill. “I want to show you one of my favorite places on the estate.”
“Anywhere you want,” she said cheerfully. As long as they were together, she was happy. “When we get there, perhaps we can stretch our legs a bit. I can feel that I haven’t been riding in months!”
The lane led to a hilltop that gave a breathtaking view over the snow-frosted estate. “How beautiful!” she exclaimed.
Allarde dismounted and tethered her horse, then raised his arms to help Tory down. She descended slowly, taking teasing advantage of their nearness.
Smiling, he guided her to the edge of the hill. “I never tire of this,” he said softly.
Tory gestured. “That’s the hall over there? It’s too large to be anything else.”
Allarde nodded. “The snow makes the hall look like a fairy palace.” He smiled apologetically. “If you don’t think that sounds too fanciful.”
“Not at all.” The wide hall could be considered a palace, with beautifully designed grounds and a lake beyond. “No wonder you love it so.”
Ka-bang! Tory dropped to the ground even before she consciously identified the sound as a gunshot. For a brief, horrific instant she was back in her vision of a high place and lethal bullets. By the time her knees hit the snowy ground, she was aware again. And embarrassed.
“The gamekeeper,” Allarde said as he offered his hand to help her up. “I had the same reaction the first time I heard a gunshot after I returned for the holidays.”
She scrambled to her feet with his help. Brushing the snow off her knees, she said, “I wonder how long it will take to get over that?”
“Maybe we never will. We’ve been in combat. Our mission was to save, not kill, but we would have been just as dead if the bullets hit us.”
“I hope never to have bullets fired in my direction again.” Tory smiled wryly. “But if the French invade, ducking quickly might prove useful.”
