Spellbound with Sly (Middlemarch Capture Book 4)

by Shelley Munro

  Sly offered her a hand to help her up, but before she rose, Lord Calum kicked her in the ribs. The girl—and she was a young girl—cried out in pain.

  Some of Princess Iseabal’s friends laughed.

  Lord Calum kicked her again.

  “Enough!” Sly roared and shoved the man away. “It was an accident. My fault. Not hers.”

  “You touched me!” Lord Calum gritted out.

  “Duh,” Sly muttered.

  Lord Calum’s blue eyes narrowed, then flashed red. His nostrils flared and he lifted his hand, muttering a few words Sly didn’t catch.

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Sly’s cheeks stung. His chin. His jaw. He touched a sore spot. It felt shiny and raised.

  Ah, spots. How old were these people? Ten? He ignored the laughs and chortles from the bystanders and helped the maid to stand. “Are you all right?”

  She winced but nodded quickly.

  “I’m sorry I caused you trouble. Let me help you.”

  “I-I can do it, Lord Sly.”

  Sly ignored her and bent to gather the tray from the garden. He placed it on the ground and scooped up empty goblets and cakes. Pink cakes. Red cakes. Purple cakes. Ugh. Who the heck ate purple cakes?

  “Stop,” Lord Calum ordered. “She dropped them. She can clear the mess.”

  “Sly, let the maid do it.” Princess Iseabal clicked her fingers. “More singing.”

  The chatter rose in volume, whispers behind hands. Sly ignored the gossip to continue plucking cakes off the ground. He dumped a handful on the tray. A pained cry had him straightening.

  “Stop that, you bully.” He shoved Lord Calum away again, removing Lord Calum’s foot from the maid’s hand. The moron had stood on it on purpose, and now the girl cradled her hand against her stomach.

  “Don’t interfere,” Lord Calum snapped. “It’s my right to discipline the servants.” He zapped the maid with another burst of magic and she grew a set of cat’s whiskers.

  Sly gaped at the girl. Tears poured down her face as she awkwardly collected the last of the goblets. Princess Iseabal and her friends had lost interest and were chattering and making rude comments about the new singer. He spied another cake and had to consciously relax his hand to pick it up.

  “Let her do it,” Lord Calum snarled.

  Sly stood to his full height and turned slowly to face Lord Calum. “Cretin, you’re abusing your power. It’s not right.”

  Lord Calum twitched his fingers, muttered something, and suddenly Sly had his own set of cat’s whiskers.

  Anger exploded in Sly, a fury so great, it cried for release.

  Sly led with his fist and struck the lord’s nose dead center. His second quick punch made a satisfying crunch, and blood splattered both him and the bully lord.

  Lord Calum hit the ground and curled up with a pitiful whimper.

  The caterwauling from the singer ceased. Silence fell, and everyone stared at Sly with varying expressions of pity and glee.

  Disgust curdled his stomach. He had to get out of there. Sly commandeered the tray from the maidservant. “I’ll carry this for you.”

  “Sly, where are you going?” the princess asked in a frosty tone.

  “Away from here!” Sly snapped.

  “He hit me,” Lord Calum whined.

  Sly rolled his eyes and walked off, herding the maidservant away from the selfish and entitled lords and ladies of the court.

  Without warning, a flock of scarlet birds dive-bombed them.

  “Bloody prats,” Sly muttered and urged the maidservant to hustle. With his free arm, he protected his face and head as best he could. Cupcakes dropped to the ground and the birds scooped them up like treasures. He flung a handful away and most of the birds left to feast, but one or two determined attackers pecked his hands and chin before retreating.

  Sly strode into the steamy kitchen. “Where do you want these?”

  “Lord Sly.” The head cook was a tall, hefty man with a paunch that declared his love of food. “What happened?”

  “It was an accident,” Sly said. “I was clumsy and backed into your maid. She dropped her tray. Lord Calum took exception and blamed her. Well, you can see what he did. The idiot kicked her and set birds on us.”

  “Let me magic away your spots and whiskers,” the head cook said. “Maud, get some cloths to cleanse their wounds.”

  “Thanks,” Sly said. “The cloths are welcome, but leave my spots. Fix your maid’s face and check her injuries. Let her work in the kitchen for the rest of the day to stay out of Lord Calum’s way.”

  The head cook nodded. “Thank you for helping her.”

  “You shouldn’t—” Sly broke off as his legs moved without orders from his brain. “What the fuck?”

  “A spell.” The head cook scowled. “Don’t fight or you’ll cause yourself pain.”

  Grimly, Sly let his legs direct him back to the party, to the empty seat beside Princess Iseabal.

  If she thought to rule him with magic, she should think again. He was his own man and would behave as he thought fit.

  Fuming, Sly ignored Iseabal, ignored the singer, ignored the smart-arse comments sent in his direction. He sat in his chair, not reacting until the weight of a stare prodded him. Slowly, he turned to meet Lord Calum’s red gaze.

  If looks could kill…

  Later that eve, Sly studied his reflection while dressing for dinner. Black spots and a set of white whiskers. Huh. He’d set a new fashion trend. Alfric had set out a red suit for him to wear to the evening meal in the Great Hall. Red. He was not a red kinda guy.

  Sly stalked over to the wall and waved his hand to open the wardrobe. Some sort of sensor thingy. He froze. What the hell?

  Red.

  Every single item of apparel.

  “Well, I might wear a red suit to dinner.”

  He dressed in the suit Alfric had left for him and strolled from his room. Late. Too bad. Rather than spend time with the princess and her self-centered friends, he’d prefer to skip dinner and walk in the gardens and hang out by the lake with Cinnabar. He dawdled along passages, startling a laugh from two female servants he met.

  “Lord Sly.” A buxom maid with golden hair to match her skin blinked at him. “You have whiskers.”

  Sly fingered his cat whiskers. Strange, but they didn’t seem as weird as they should. “I didn’t have time to shave,” he said.

  “We heard of your troubles. Thank you for standing up for Leeza,” the other maid, a chubby brunette, whispered. “Would you like us to magic them away?”

  “You can do that?”

  “Those of us with magic can undo basic spells. It doesn’t deplete much power.”

  “I think I will leave them.” Let Iseabal and her friends snigger. He loathed the way they treated the servants. Someone needed to take a stand on their behalf. “They’re dashing with my red suit.”

  The chubby maid tittered. “No one will miss you.”

  Sly bent in a bow. “Have a good evening.”

  A few minutes later, he walked past two security guards and into the crowded Great Hall. Silence fell as he strode toward Liam and the only empty seat. Heat sizzled through him without warning, and a quick glance showed his red suit had acquired a series of back spots to match his face.

  Liam grinned as Sly took a seat beside him at the high table. “Who have you angered? I’ll magic them away for you.”

  “No, I wish to make a point,” Sly said, and nodded at the young lady on his other side before turning his attention back to Liam. “Lord Calum was picking on a servant this afternoon. She tripped and spilled a tray of drinks on him because I collided with her by mistake. I’m tired of the people around the ‘court’.” He paused to do air quotes. “And the way they bully and treat the servants. It’s not right.”

  Liam straightened, lost the grin. He waved his hand and a transparent bubble covered him and Sly, cutting off the chatter from the rest of the Great Hall. “What happened?”

  “He gave
the servant spots and ordered her to clean up the mess by hand instead of using magic. He took exception to me helping her, and we both ended up with spots on our faces. I hit him. Popped him in the nose. For that, a flock of birds dive-bombed me. The cook and several servants have offered to fix me, but I declined. Explain this magic system to me. I don’t get it.”

  “Ah, do you mind if I change the color of your suit? It’s hurting my eyes.”

  Sly snorted. “Every piece of clothing in my wardrobe is this color.”

  “You’ve made yourself an enemy. Lord Calum holds a grudge.”

  Sly shrugged. “If he’s picking on me, the servants might get a break.”

  “Is it really that unpleasant?” Liam scowled. “I hadn’t realized. I should have, since with Father ill, I am in charge.” He flicked his hand, and Sly experienced a faint vibration as his clothing turned from red to black. “Most residents can perform basic magic, and those from wealthy families tend to study the subject from an early age, which gives them a greater ability. Basically, our magic is performed by tapping into the energy—the ley lines—beneath Seelie.”

  “Can’t the servants retaliate or work together to stop the bullying?”

  “No. They can undo trivial things—the spots on your face, your whiskers. They can use magic to shift heavy loads, to clean. Simple one-action chores. A complex spell, such as decorating an entire chamber or making a meal of many ingredients, requires greater skill. Anytime one uses magic, it depletes our power. It’s the way we use the ley lines, and only time replenishes our magical ability. That’s why you’ll see more pranks than serious stuff.”

  Sly thought of Cinnabar. “What about a curse? Or causing a death?”

  “My father or I possess ample power. Maybe my sisters. Some of the high lords.”

  “What about undoing a complex spell? Can you do that?”

  “That is where things get tricky. Each spell is individual to the person doing the casting. Undoing another’s magical spell is difficult. Mostly impossible. And a complex spell can leave the spell caster vulnerable. Once again, that will vary and depend on the spell caster’s skill level.”

  “Boredom is a terrible thing,” Sly commented.

  Liam’s eyes narrowed. He resembled Princess Iseabal in that instant, and every muscle in Sly tensed for flight. “Are you telling me I need to mend my house?”

  “I’m telling you vulnerable people are getting hurt and ridiculed because others are selfish and entitled. Not naming names. Just letting you know. Many of your servants spend their working hours terrified of making a mistake.”

  Liam lost his royal hauteur. “Thank you for telling me. I must think about this.”

  “Speak with your royal guards. They do their best to help, but interference dumps them in the firing line.”

  Liam nodded, offered a wry grin. He murmured a few soft words and the transparent bubble vanished. The noise level rose to the normal Great Hall din.

  “What were you discussing?” Princess Iseabal demanded.

  “Farming matters,” Liam said. “I wished for privacy.”

  “I saved you a seat,” Princess Iseabal said.

  Not true. The only empty seat at the high table had been next to Liam.

  Princess Iseabal clicked her fingers at him. “Come. Your place is at my side.” She stalked back to the other end of the high table.

  “She treats me like a pet,” Sly muttered. And even more telling, she hadn’t made one comment about his appearance. The spots. The whiskers. The clothes that had turned red again. Frustrated with his position, Sly stood and ambled over to the empty seat beside the princess.

  He was no man’s dog. Princess’s dog. Whatever.

  He was his own person, his own boss, and somehow, he’d teach the princess this truth.

  * * * * *

  The days passed and fell into routine. The banns were read a second time, and it felt as if a trap was closing over his head. He spent his mornings with the family, breaking his fast, part of the day with Liam, and the rest with Princess Iseabal and her friends. The latter the most challenging part of his day. His late evenings he spent with Cinnabar, talking and making love.

  Someone scratched at his door an instant before it opened and Alfric shambled inside, following a floating tray bearing his hot chocolate.

  Sly yanked back the covers and slid out of bed, naked as usual. Grinning, he sauntered over to the tray and poured half a cup of hot chocolate while Alfric averted his eyes. Sly’s preference for sleeping naked bothered his elderly valet.

  Sly pretended to take a sip. “Ahhh,” he said. “The first sip always tastes perfect. I’ll take the rest of my cup in the bathing room.”

  Alfric gave a nod, yet stared at his feet. “Shall I choose a suit for you?”

  “I’m going out riding with Liam. We’re checking the kashmore at the west farm.”

  Alfric tut-tutted. “Very well, my lord. I’ll place an appropriate suit out for you.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, pick one for me to wear upon my return, too, Alfric. Not red, if possible.”

  “Of course, my lord. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, I’ll dress myself. You go ahead with your duties.” One of which, according to Cinnabar, was to report to Princess Iseabal.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Sly took a moment to top up his cup before wandering into the bathing room. He set the cup on the counter and turned on the water. He’d dispose of the contents as soon as Alfric left.

  About half an hour later, Sly strode toward the royal salon.

  “Good morning,” he said to a maid who was dusting the china and sculptures in the alcoves along the passage.

  She jerked up her head, stared at him then offered a shy smile. “Good morn, my lord.”

  He continued to the salon, whistling a tune. He had no idea what it was or where it came from, but the melody cheered him.

  “Hello,” he said to the two security men on the door.

  “Good morn, my lord,” the senior one said.

  “Have the family arrived?”

  “Just Prince Liam,” he replied.

  “Thanks,” Sly said and continued with his whistling. “Hey, Liam. How’s it hangin’?”

  Liam blinked double time, the back of his throat visible, so big was his goggle.

  “You’re inviting bugs to explore the interior of your mouth,” Sly said, smirking.

  Liam offered a nonplussed grin, rather than his dignified king one. “It’s…ah…hangin’.”

  “Good to hear. I can’t wait to get into the fresh air.” Sly fingered his lips and winced. The salve Alfric had given him seemed to have helped ease his cracked lips. Maybe an allergy of some type? He had the ointment in his pocket and decided to apply more after his breakfast.

  A footman pulled out a seat for him.

  “Thank you,” Sly said.

  The young man dipped in a polite bow but didn’t quite hide his merriment. “Would you like your normal cup of tay?”

  “Yes, please,” Sly said. Tay was similar to tea, although the color varied from day to day. He hadn’t worked out why, but it did the job and cleared the cobwebs from his mind.

  The footman left to get his tay and Sly reached for the dish of eggs. He dumped three spoonsful onto his plate, then added four slices of the pink meat that reminded him of bacon.

  “Everyone likes you,” Prince Liam said. “You have a knack with people. The castle seems lighter with you around.”

  “Polite manners never hurt.” Sly shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed. “Ma drummed that into us from the moment we talked.”

  “Ma sounds like a wise woman,” Liam said.

  “Yeah, I miss her. I even miss Saber.”

  “Who is Saber?”

  Sly paused, considered his answer and waited for his memory to cloud over. “Saber is my brother,” he said slowly. “My oldest brother.”

  Iseabal paused at the doorway, alarm skittering thr
ough her. How the shoodlepoppers had this happened? Alfric had reported Sly was drinking his morning chocolate. Somehow, he’d become immune to the spell. A servant marched down the hall with purposeful strides.

  “Who is that for?”

  “Lord Sly,” the footman answered, keeping his gaze lowered.

  Something else she didn’t understand. Everyone at the castle thought well of Sly, even her sister Katrina. The only person who disliked him was Calum, and that was because, come their marriage, Sly would stand between Calum and power. Oh, and the fact Sly had punched him. That hadn’t helped.

  “I’ll take that for you.” She growled when the servant hesitated. “I said I’d take that for you. Hurry or you won’t like the consequences.”

  The cup and saucer and pot of steaming liquid—probably tay, since Sly seemed to favor it—rattled as he handed over the tray.

  “Go,” she ordered.

  The boy hesitated again, then almost ran toward the kitchen.

  Iseabal set the tray on hover, opened the lid of the pot, and pulled a small bottle from her pocket. The one she’d intended to give to Alfric to replenish his supply. She tipped three crystals onto her palm, frowned and added one more. She dropped them into the pot and used the teaspoon to stir the liquid. That should do the trick. Just her luck to pick a man with a strong mind.

  The head footman appeared. “Princess Iseabal. Let me take the tray. The boy should never have given it to you.”

  She handed over the hover tray as if it were a distasteful creature intent on biting. “No, I don’t know what that was about.”

  “I will discipline him,” the head footman said. “And confine him to the kitchen.”

  Iseabal nodded and sailed into the salon.

  Sly spotted her and rose. “Good morning, Princess Iseabal.” He seated her before taking his place again.

  “Liam, are you dragging off Sly again this morn?”

  “I’m hardly dragging him off, Iseabal,” Liam said in an even tone.

  “I don’t understand why you both enjoy scrambling around in the mud. It’s undignified.”

  “Let me remind you, Iseabal, that the farming operation gives our people work and opportunities. It gives them purpose.”