Mystified

by Renee Bernard

  He stiffened for a moment as the heat of her hands flared and she tethered her soul to his again. But this time, it felt effortless. Unlike the harrowing night when he’d been so deathly ill and she had not known him at all, this time he was Blade, the man she was falling in love with and there was no barrier between her emotions and her desire to heal him.

  This time instead of drawing out a fever, she was pushing something at him, in her mind conjuring the image of a river of golden light flowing through her fingertips and into his frame.

  Warrior, take heed and drink deep.

  I love you enough to carry us both down this hill.

  But let us walk instead.

  Breath to breath.

  Bone to bone.

  It was easy magic and that didn’t make sense to her at all. Usually such spells drained her, but it was as if the flow were a circle between them and whatever she gave, he instantly and unknowingly reciprocated.

  The tingling in her palms was so strong it felt like a vibration that hummed and sang.

  His breathing was steadier and strong and Elethea opened her eyes and removed her hands, smiling at his improved color, the sweat gone from his forehead and his temperature much improved. “There. That should do it.”

  She stood and held out a hand to help him to his feet.

  “My God.” He opened his eyes and unfolded from the ground as gracefully as could be managed. “What just happened?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “I feel…better. Why do I feel better, Miss Fairfax? What just happened?”

  She looked up into his eyes, failing to step back and restore the distance between them. Her breath was coming quickly and the strange tendrils of heat between them lingered like steam over a cup of boiling tea. All Blade knew is that he never wanted her to move, that whatever had just happened, he was enthralled.

  “Please tell me what just happened,” he repeated quietly.

  “Magic,” she whispered.

  “I don’t believe in magic,” he said and then found himself kissing her and making himself a liar in one heedless moment because kissing Elethea Fairfax was magic. Her lips were so tender, softer than any flower’s petals—but the heat, the addictive warmth was so sweet, so enticing that the first gentle touch gave way instantly to something else. Because kissing Elethea Fairfax was not a polite gesture of measured affection or even a sinful delight stolen in a reckless moment.

  It was as if he had never drawn breath or known his own name until he’d kissed her.

  It was as if he were alive at last, never knowing that he’d been sleepwalking in a half-formed existence.

  It was everything.

  She was everything.

  The need for her was so strong and so palpable that it rocked him to his core and he knew that he would never be the same.

  It was impossible to fathom and Blade wasn’t trying to apply reason, not as she yielded to him, matched him, offered back every kiss with an innocent hunger of her own.

  A strange scream carried on the wind, faint at first, but then it too distinct a sound to ignore. He managed to rein in his need to kiss her until they were both senseless, but only barely. The discipline he’d taken pride in was weakened and frail with Elethea in his arms.

  Even so, the cry came again and Blade lifted his head and ended the kiss.

  “What was that?”

  “It was—” Elethea put her fingertips against her lips. “Some say it’s a ghost.”

  “Not just any ghost, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Lady Banfield’s ghost. That’s what they say.”

  Elethea looked away as if seeking out the form behind the cry they’d heard. “There are so many lost spirits and so many sad tales attached to the castle. It is hard to count them all.” She shifted to look up at him again. “When you were ill, you said you were cursed. Do you believe that you are cursed?”

  “I—a man of science would never say such a thing.”

  “Would he not?”

  Blade would normally have answered her with a swift and witty rebuttal, would have denied that logic could ever be abandoned to the nonsense of a belief in dark forces and bad luck but just then the cry came again, faint and insistent, a plaintive sound of raw pain and immeasurable loss.

  He released her completely, desperate to regain some control. The sound unsettled him.

  God help me, she speaks of magic and ghosts and…I should have command of myself but I am at a loss.

  “I can’t believe in curses, Miss Fairfax.”

  “You can’t?”

  “It’s a floodgate once opened, I’m not sure it would be so easily shut again.” He scanned the horizon, anxious to find a source and explanation for the sound that now faded away into the natural moans and sighs of the breeze. “For us. For the families tied to the castle…There has been so much bad luck that if I entertained it for a moment… What gain could there be? It’s cruel. If I accept for one moment that—curses exist then I have to account for the avalanche of evidence that confirms that the Hamblys are indeed cursed. And what man brings a woman into that and expects to sleep with a clear conscience? How would I ever forgive myself?”

  “I can sympathize with your fears. Let’s forget that I asked. Let us say it was the fever that inspired you to say it. It was nothing.”

  He tried to nod and agree. He tried to move past it and see if he could trick himself into merrily attempting to kiss her again.

  Except he’d heard that cry—and it was no illusion.

  And kissing her was magic—and that was no illusion.

  And she’d touched him and done something that had restored him so that he felt as if he could climb a mountain—and that was no illusion.

  Things unseen weren’t all nonsense but once a man admitted that, where did he regain control of the line to say that he wouldn’t be haunted like his father, that he wouldn’t love hard and lose harder?

  Hambly brides carry a bouquet of death…that’s what she said before she took her last breath. My mother was warning me and I never wanted to give it any credence.

  Looking at Elethea was becoming painful. He’d just begun to feel whole and now he was almost sure that he would have to rend himself into pieces to spare her.

  After all, if curses were real, then he’d done the one thing he should never do. He’d fallen in love.

  “We should get back,” he said as calmly as he could. “I think I need to rest.”

  “O-of course. I should have suggested it myself.” She was blushing with misery at the abrupt end to their liaison and he hated himself for causing it. He wanted to tell her how he felt, to reassure her, to kiss her again and prove that he was not a cad or a coward.

  But another cry on the wind sealed their fate and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in wary fear.

  Blade Hambly had remembered who he was and the legacy of the title he would one day inherit just in time to spare Miss Elethea Fairfax.

  He held out his arm and escorted her silently back to the village to say good-bye.

  Chapter 11

  “Where have you been?”

  Elethea took off her bonnet as she entered the house. “Was the Jenks’ girl all right?”

  “She broke her arm and her collar bone but she’ll survive. Pray do not change the subject,” Dr. Fairfax said. “Did he tire as I predicted? What in the world kept you out so long?”

  “He made it as far as the crest near the overlook and then, yes, as you predicted, he tired. We were forced to wait for a time until he felt strong enough to head back down the path to the village.” She retrieved her apron from a hook by the door. “Is Gemma in the kitchen? I offered to help her with the apple sausages and pies for the celebrations tomorrow.”

  “Ella, I don’t wish to spoil your fun, but I think it’s time I put my foot down. After dealing with Marjorie Jenks today, it is more clear to me than ever that these foolish rites are no place for you. It was fine when you were a child but
you’ve long outgrown these things.”

  “The entire village celebrates Samhain! Everyone, Father, from children to those with great grandchildren. Please don’t—”

  “It’s an excuse for mischief and if the citizens of Bocka Morrow do not care to behave themselves and act with dignity, then it’s nothing to do with the choices I am making for my daughter!” He pulled a letter from his coat pocket. “Dr. Anthony Prescott has accepted my invitation to come at Michaelmas. Granted, it’s weeks away but I want you to start centering your thoughts on what truly matters. The village is all you have known but there is a greater world out there and I will not have you smothered in ignorance and blind to what is coming your way.”

  “Coming my way?”

  “A chance to have a respectable home of your own, a husband and someday children, Elethea. Don’t you want that?”

  Her eyes filled with tears, the ache too keen to ignore. “O-of course, but—”

  “And so you shall have them but not with some fisherman in the village or an illiterate tradesman, Ella.”

  And not with the next Earl of Banfield…

  It’s Blade or no man.

  “Father,” Elethea began and then cleared her throat. “I will obey you and stay home during the Allantide celebrations tomorrow afternoon. I will be courteous to any guest who crosses our threshold. But I will not be marrying where I do not love. I have always been a dutiful daughter but in this matter, I cannot yield. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to heat some water and clean up before I help Gemma with dinner.”

  “Elethea, I am not sure what is behind this nonsense but—”

  “Enough! If one more man speaks the word ‘nonsense’ to me I will go mad! With all due respect, the only person in this house in need of a spouse is you!” Only then did she do something she had never done before—she tore off her apron, threw it onto the floor and stormed up the stairs to her room.

  It was several long moments before Dr. Alistair Fairfax could think of a single thing to say except that by then, there was no one to listen and hear him say it.

  By the next morning, Blade was awash in regret.

  He had passed a restless night without any sleep tortured in turns by the memory of Elethea in his arms and the sound of a long dead woman keening on the wind. He couldn’t deny the reality of either one of them.

  For a man who had spent a lifetime clinging to linear thought, the tangle and confusion of ghosts and magic was difficult to absorb. Elethea was like a light in the darkness to him. If he rejected dozens of accounts of incidents at Keyvnor, the terrible end to so many of the women and the tragic losses—he could choose to ignore all of it and marry where his heart wished.

  And if I’m wrong…

  If he claimed Elethea as his own and the stories were all true, then he risked her safety and sanity and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  He wrote a note to his Uncle Allan Hambly, the current Earl of Banfield, to reassure him that he was recovering and would be there for the reading of the will, but not before. He wasn’t sure he had the strength for a family reunion or the ability to recount how he’d spent his days in Bocka Morrow.

  There was a knock on the door and he didn’t even bother to look up from his travel desk as he finished folding the letter. “I just need to seal this and you can deliver it to the castle, Ben.”

  “Ben will have it there quickly enough,” a woman’s voice replied. “He is a good boy although prone to stealing blackberries from my hedgerows.”

  Blade stood to greet his unexpected guest. It was a woman he had never seen before. She was advanced in years but not fragile or wizened. She was elegantly unbroken by the passage of time and looking at him with the firm confidence of a creature who cared not one fig for social convention or the requirement of manners. Her gown was outdated and worn, an echo of better days that had been patched and repaired until it was nearly unrecognizable as a tea gown.

  “Pardon me. I thought you were the boy I’d rung for to take my letter,” he said.

  With bright eyes, she openly studied him and then finally sighed. “So I gathered, Mr. Hambly. Are you going to invite me in or should I continue to stand in this doorway?”

  “Please come in. And you are…?”

  “I am Maevis Grayson.”

  He waited for more. Usually introductions came with additional hints and clues as to how a person was related to another in one’s circles or when they’d become known but Mrs. Maevis Grayson was enjoying the mystery.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Grayson.”

  “I cannot stay long. It is the Eve tonight and Samhain is the holiday that marks the new year in my calendar, sir.” She swept in, as gracefully as a dancer. “I have much to do.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t really know you and I’m trying to guess why you’ve come to call.”

  “I’ve come to call, Mr. Hambly, because I needed to see you for myself. It is important to take the measure of a man and I have quite a gift for it. Elethea Fairfax is my granddaughter and the most precious treasure I possess, which is not really fair to say since I do not own her, do I!” She clapped her hands together. “You look well recovered! How are you feeling?”

  “I am well. Thank you for asking.”

  She took three steps closer, consuming much of the distance between them to look him directly in the eyes. “Turtling up. Men do. I see your armor and it’s polished to perfection, is it not? It’s all right. I’m not one to hold it against anyone—it is a powerful instinct to retreat and a smart one when we want to survive.”

  He opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out. She’d robbed him of thought with her strange forthright speech. Blade cleared his throat intending to make another attempt but Maevis Grayson didn’t wait.

  “Your shell is very smooth and sturdy from years of use, I see.”

  “I am not a turtle, Mrs. Grayson.”

  “Of course you aren’t! Do I look dotty to you?”

  “N-no! It’s just this insistence about shells and—”

  “I cannot stay. My sincere apologies but I have to prepare for this evening. There is much to be done and I hope you’ll understand the need for such a brief call.” To his complete astonishment, she began to leave as if they’d had a lovely visit and now she was returning home.

  “I…understand.”

  She pivoted back without warning, so quickly that Blade took a small step backward in surprise. “Mr. Hambly, let me make myself as clear as I can. Tonight is All Hallow’s Eve. All things are possible on All Hallow’s Eve. Spells are cast, the dead walk amidst the living and best of all, ancient wrongs are righted and curses fall away like mist. It’s all grand fun, really. But you—you may retreat if you wish. Everything submits to free will in the end. But before you pull in your tender limbs and guard your heart inside that shell, I advise you to seek out my granddaughter, Elethea and ask her about my dream.”

  “Your dream?”

  “I had a dream about you.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what it was?”

  “Ask. Elethea.” Maevis picked up the edge of her skirts and left, slowing only to call back over her shoulder before she disappeared. “Good day, Mr. Hambly. You are in desperate need of a pet of some kind. I’m going to consult friends in my circle and see what they recommend for you.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t really....” His protest died quickly as he realized that she was already down the corridor and nearly at the bottom of the stairs.

  He was still standing in the doorway trying to make sense of it all when Ben came to get his note.

  Ask Elethea.

  I wouldn’t even know where to begin or if I have the strength to say good-bye again.

  Chapter 12

  After days of overcast skies and rain, the skies for All Hallow’s Eve were as clear as glass. Elethea had released Gemma from her duties so that at least one woman from the Fairfax house could take in the festivities of the day. Elethea to
ok some the scraps from breakfast out to the garden and after fighting off another random wave of tears, she sat in the yard to look up at the trees and accept a selfish truth.

  I urged Gemma to go because I didn’t want any witnesses to this…childish pout and the tantrums of a broken-hearted fool.

  “Goddess, be kind,” Gran announced as she walked into the yard and took a seat next to her. “It’s going to be a grand evening under that moon when it rises.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be home getting ready and resting.”

  “I wanted to stretch my legs and see my favorite granddaughter.”

  Elethea smiled. “I am your only granddaughter but I am glad to see you all the same. Would you like to come in? I made ginger cakes for—”

  “I didn’t come for tea, my darling.” Maevis stood and held out her hand to assist Ella to her feet. “I wanted to tell you that no matter what happens, you must hold fast to your faith. Good things will come.”

  “In this world or the next,” Elethea said softly. “I know, Gran.”

  “I only ever wished you to be happy. Do you also know that?”

  “I know but what we wish doesn’t always come to pass. You taught me that. That sometimes we must yield to a greater design, one so vast we cannot see the lines and circles but trust to the Goddess’s mercy that we haven’t strayed too far from her work. Isn’t that right?”

  “You’re too young to be that sage,” Gran chided her. “Tonight, when you dance under the moon, promise you’ll keep an open heart.”

  Elethea almost told her that she was forbidden to leave the house—she almost made the complaint because then Gran would rally to her cause and make a stir or even confront her father and make an argument for him to retract the punishment.

  Almost.

  “I will, Gran. An open heart, I promise.” She kissed her on the cheek. “I love you.”