by C. J. Archer
He nodded with satisfaction, his jaw softening with relief. "I am here," he announced.
Sylvia screamed and collapsed on the bed in a dead faint.
CHAPTER 2
I helped Sylvia to sit up and sip some water. How rapidly our roles had reversed. I felt perfectly normal, although in desperate need of a bath to wash away the lingering effects of the fever. She blinked first at me, then at the warrior. Another sound escaped her lips, this one quieter and more like a gurgle, but no less shocked.
"Cara…he's…he's naked!"
The warrior moved slightly, somehow enhancing his musculature more. His face changed too. I got the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh, although his lips were still set in a firm line and his jaw was rigid. His eyes, however, shone.
"Only half-naked," I murmured, tearing my gaze away from his face to his body. "It's perfectly all right for us to see him like that."
"Are you quite sure? Because I don't feel all right. I feel a little light-headed." She touched her temple as if to fortify her mind.
"It's only skin. We all have it."
"Yes, but it does seem wrong to look at him in that state. The sight may corrupt our moral fiber."
"If you think so then avert your eyes. I would hate for your moral fiber to be in any danger," I mocked.
"Oh, I will. Soon. Quite, quite soon. After I've learned every little thing there is to learn from such a specimen. He is quite the specimen," she said, tilting her head to the side as if the different angle could teach her more.
"You're interested in science?" I asked idly.
"I am now. Aren't you?"
"Indeed."
"So he's the warrior."
I nodded.
"How intriguing. I can see how he'd be very good at destroying demons and the like. I imagine all those muscles would prove useful."
"I imagine they do." I smiled at him and he arched his brows at me, waiting. He seemed unmoved by our whispered discussion and open observation, although the slight lift of one corner of his mouth and the sparkling eyes implied otherwise.
"What do we do with him?" Sylvia asked.
"He's going to help me find the book of spells that the parchment was torn from." I nodded at the page that had slipped to the floor when she fainted. "The book has a counter-curse in it that will cure me."
She whipped around to face me. "You're not cured? But you seem so much better."
"I feel better. Mr. Garrett's spirit cursed me, and we must read the counter-curse aloud to break it. It's in the book that Mr. Myer wants so much, the one that Brother Francis's spirit mentioned but is now lost."
"Why would Garrett curse you?"
"I don't think he meant to. He was looking at Myer at the time, and it's my guess he was trying to curse him. Since Garrett was in spirit form and I was the only one who could see and hear him, I suppose it affected me instead."
"That's rather unlucky."
"So now all we have to do is find the book."
"And the warrior is going to help you?"
"I am," he said, speaking for the first time.
Sylvia jumped. "He understands us!"
"Of course," I said.
"I had thought…oh, never mind. How are you going to help us?" she asked him.
He shrugged boulder-like shoulders. "That is for you to decide. I must stay near Cara, however, or she will sicken and die."
Sylvia's gulp was audible. "So you're protecting her from the illness? Er, curse?"
"Yes. Where she is, I must be."
She stood, just as a light knock sounded on the door. "Sylvia? It's me," came Tommy the footman's voice. "How is she?"
"Much better," she called back. "Come and see for yourself."
"Wait!" I shouted. But it was too late. Tommy had the door open and was stepping into the bedroom before I could stop him.
"Bloody hell!" He gawped at the warrior. Although Tommy was tall, the warrior was taller and broader. He turned to the newcomer and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, giving me rather a nice view of the muscles rippling across his shoulders and down his back. Two long white scars striped the middle of his back and another smaller one puckered the skin on his arm.
Tommy's eyes widened and he put up his fists, settling into a pugilist's stance.
"You can't fight him!" I cried, racing to Tommy and laying my hand on his arm. "He's the warrior. You know, the otherworldly being who fought the demons in the fifteen hundreds. I summoned him to keep the curse at bay."
Tommy lowered his fists, but didn't relax. "What curse?"
I explained everything we'd learned so far and the reason for the warrior's presence. It did not seem to ease Tommy's concern, however. He eyed the newcomer up and down and was sized up in return.
"Sylvia!" he snapped. "Look away. He's naked."
I sighed and Tommy took the liberty of covering my eyes for me, but then he dropped his hand and marched past the warrior to Sylvia and covered hers. She stepped aside and glared at him, hands on hips.
"Stop fussing, Tommy. I'm not going to faint at the sight of a little manly flesh." She scoffed, and I bit back a smile. She wasn't going to faint again.
"I don't like this," Tommy said, studying the warrior once more. "I'm sure Mr. Langley won't want his niece exposed to such a sight. Or her friend."
"I don't see that we have a choice," I said. "The warrior must remain to keep me well."
"Can't he at least put on decent clothing?"
The warrior arched a brow at Tommy and took in his footman's livery of black jacket and trousers with crisp white shirt, tie and gleaming shoes. "I cannot swing a sword in that."
"This is England, 1889," Tommy said with a thrust of his chin. "We don't use swords, we have guns."
"Guns do not kill demons."
"Neither do swords."
"Mine does."
We all looked at the blade strapped to his hip. It must have been forged in the demon realm to be effective on the creatures. We knew of only one other weapon—Jack Langley's knife.
"We probably should find him some clothes," I said. "Perhaps an old shirt of Jack's will do."
Tommy and Sylvia shook their heads. "None will be big enough," Tommy said. "Bollard's will fit in length, but not across the shoulders. We'll have to get something made up."
"I'll measure him," Sylvia said quickly. "Then we'll have the measurements sent to Mr. Irwin, the village tailor, and ask him to make us two shirts as quickly as possible, and a full suit too."
"You are not measuring him," Tommy announced. "No females will touch the warrior."
I turned away from their bickering to the man in question, only to find that he'd been watching me again, his brow creased, his eyes hooded.
"I apologize for bringing trouble to your home, Cara," he said.
"No trouble," I said breezily, waving off the other two as they stopped arguing, giving each other the silent treatment instead. "Now, first things first. What are we to call you? Do you have a name?"
"Quintin St. Clair."
"Quintin? You don't look like a Quintin." Not that I knew what a Quintin looked like; but the name didn't suit the strapping fellow filling the bedroom with his significant presence.
"It was the name my father gave me," he said, sounding a little offended.
"You have a father?"
"Everybody has a father. Mine is long dead."
"Oh. Yes, of course, I just thought that since you were some sort of supernatural creature that you were made rather than born."
"I am human, like you, but much older."
"How old?"
"I was born many years ago. That is all you need to know."
"I see. Well, since you don't look like a Quintin to me, may I call you Quin?"
He considered it then gave a single nod. "Quin will suffice."
"It's from the Latin, isn't it? Quintus, meaning fifth?"
"And St. Clair sounds French," Sylvia said with triumph. She'd been trying hard to impro
ve her languages, although she'd yet to master much beyond the basics.
He nodded. "I was the fifth son, and the last."
"Tell us about yourself," I said.
"No. We must find the book so I can return."
"Return to where? You haven't really explained where you're from."
"In between."
"Yes, but what does that mean? In between what?"
His gaze shifted away from me. "Where was the book last seen?" It would seem the topic of his origins was off-limits for now. I would try again later.
"Down at the abbey ruins."
"Take me there."
Tommy held up his hands. "Slow down. This is a lot more complicated than simply heading outside and digging a few holes near the ruins. Myer has been searching for the book for an age. Added to which, it's growing late. Dinner will be ready soon. And might I remind you that Cara has been ill? She needs rest and food. Tomorrow we'll think about finding the book. Tonight, you will have to…" He shrugged, apparently at a loss as to what supernatural warriors did when they weren't fighting demons.
"Eat," Quin said, swallowing heavily. "I would like to eat."
"You're hungry?" I asked.
He blinked and a small line connected his brows. "Aye."
"You seem surprised. Are you hungrier than usual?"
"I don't ordinarily need food or drink."
"Good lord." Sylvia's eyes widened. "Do you mean to say you haven't eaten in hundreds of years? You must be starving! Tommy, have Cook prepare dinner early. We'll be right down after we introduce Mr. St. Clair to Uncle August."
"You introduce him," I said to her. "I need to take a bath first." Frakingham House was fortunate in that it had one bathing room, located in a part of the house that had been very recently renovated. Water reached it through pipes hidden behind the walls without the servants needing to carry buckets upstairs. I bathed often.
Sylvia marched to the door, all brisk determination. Tommy didn't move. "I'm not leaving you two alone with him," he declared.
She clicked her tongue. "Don't be a ninny. He's perfectly harmless."
"We don't know that."
"He could have hurt us before you entered, but he didn't. He behaved as a gentleman should. Except for the issue of his clothing, that is, and that could not be helped."
Tommy hesitated and I opened my mouth to reassure him, but Quin spoke first. "They are safe with me. I'm here to protect Cara, and won't harm anyone she does not wish harmed. This is a decree that I must obey."
"A decree from whom?" I asked, seizing the opportunity to find out more about him.
Quin didn't answer. Tommy, apparently reassured, backed out of the bedroom and left, but not without pinning Quin with a sharp glare first. Quin didn't seem to notice. He was watching me. His undivided attention was unnerving and I felt my face heat with a blush. The warmth reminded me that I needed to wash away the remnants of the fever.
"You can take Quin to meet your uncle," I told Sylvia. "I'm going to have a bath."
"I must remain with you," Quin said.
"It's all right. Mr. Langley is only upstairs."
He shook his head. "That's too far. I must be in the same room as you, Cara."
"The same room!" Sylvia flapped her hands at her reddening cheeks. "No. No, no, no. That will not do. Cara cannot have a bath with you present, or do the many other things a lady must do in private." Her face was a picture of horror. Poor Sylvia. Even mentioning the word bath in the presence of a man went against her—and most of society's—sense of decency. "It's quite impossible," she said again. "I forbid it."
Quin ignored her and watched me. He seemed to have a remarkable ability to block out those he didn't want to hear.
I sighed. "I think he's in earnest, Syl. He must remain close."
"But it's indecent!" she spluttered. "Immoral! Disgusting!"
Quin's face lifted in amusement, proving he had been listening. "I will turn my back. Does that suffice?"
"Hardly."
"I'll place the bathing screen around the bath," I assured her. "And you can remain if you wish."
She pursed her lips and finally nodded. "Very well. If you absolutely must bathe."
"I must." Best to get the experience over with. I knew I'd be quite safe, yet it would still be odd having a man nearby.
"Then so be it."
We headed to the bathing room and I turned on the taps to fill the copper bath. Quin passed his hand through the running water. "What magic is this?"
"Indoor plumbing," I said. "It's quite a recent invention."
He nodded his approval and flicked the water off his hand into the bath. "I like indoor plumbing very much, although I don't see the need for you to bathe. You don't appear dirty to me."
"Perhaps not, but I need one to feel human again."
His eyes flared as he studied my length. "You are quite human, Cara. Being a spirit medium doesn't make you any less so."
I smiled. "Thank you. I know. It was merely an expression."
Sylvia busied herself with the screen then directed Quin to stand on one side. He did and looked into the toilet bowl then up at its cistern above. "What is this for?"
Sylvia's face colored. "I, er… That is, I'd rather not say." She fussed with a towel, unfolding and refolding it, over and over.
I laughed. "What Sylvia is too embarrassed to tell you is that it's used for private bodily functions. It flushes everything away with water stored up there." I pointed to the cistern. "Pipes feed into it and you pull this chain to send the water down into the bowl."
His gaze followed the exposed pipes. "A curious invention, but I see how ladies would like it." He stood on the seat of the toilet to peer into the cistern.
Satisfied that he was occupied with the magic of modern plumbing, I stepped behind the screen and undressed. A moment later, I sank into the warm water and hurriedly washed myself with lavender soap. Before I climbed out, Quin had flushed the privy three times. Each one brought a smile to my face, imagining his childlike wonder as he watched the water swirl down the bowl and disappear through the hidden pipes.
Sylvia handed me the towel as I stepped out then helped me dress in a clean sleeveless chemise, drawers, corset and petticoats. I wore my mauve satin evening gown with the cream lace tablier down the front of the skirt and small bustle behind. It was quite formal, but we did have a dinner guest in our midst so I thought it appropriate. Sylvia tried to train my hair into something worthy of the gown, but gave up with a sigh.
"Leave it," I told her. "It's hopeless."
"We'll have time tomorrow to fix it into something more suitable," she assured me with a nod that sent her own beautifully sleek, well behaved curls dancing around her face.
We rounded the screen to see Quin leaning back against the sink, his arms and ankles crossed in a laconic pose. His warm gaze was anything but lazy, however. It flew straight to my bare shoulders, and grew even warmer. I swallowed heavily.
Fortunately Sylvia hadn't noticed his scrutiny or she would have made a fuss. "I must leave you two to prepare myself for dinner. Cara, are you able to introduce Mr. St. Clair to Uncle August and Bollard?"
"Of course. We'll see you shortly in the dining room. Come with me, Quin."
"You ought to call him Mr. St. Clair. And he ought to address you as Miss Moreau."
"If he is to accompany me to the bathing room, I think we can be on a first name basis."
"I suppose you're right." She sighed. "Standards are slipping these days. I don't like it."
I led Quin through the house to where Mr. August Langley lived and worked. It wasn't far, being in the same wing as the bathing room. Quin took great interest in every object, piece of artwork and sconce we passed, touching or picking them up to study them further.
"It's probably quite different to the houses you're used to." I didn't know how old he was, but he had been alive and in warrior form before the dissolution of the monasteries in the fifteen-thirties. That made him at leas
t three hundred and fifty years old.
"It's as large as a castle," he said, pausing to look through an open door that led to yet another bedroom.
"Have you seen many castles?"
"Two."
"Really? Which ones?"
"Windsor and Edinburgh. What is this used for?" He inspected a lamp that had been left on a side table.
"Light. It's a gas lamp that can be carried at night." I picked it up by the handle and held it aloft.
He tapped the glass cage. "Show me."
"I have nothing to light it with at the moment. Perhaps later, when it grows darker." It was still daylight although the sun had already sunk low. We would be dining earlier than usual.
"Windsor and Edinburgh," I prompted him. "Which monarchs were on the throne at the time of your visits?"
"You ask too many questions for a lady, Cara."
"I'm curious about you."
"So I see," he said wryly. Yet he gave me no further explanations or answers.
"Is there a reason you're not telling me anything about yourself?"
"I tell you only what you need to know."
"I think I need to know more about the person keeping me alive than his name."
"I disagree."
I blew out a breath. The man was exasperating. I tried a different tactic. "What were the castles of Windsor and Edinburgh like when you visited them?" I had limited historical knowledge of either castle, although I suspected they'd been altered over the centuries. His description of them might help me glean something. I would grasp at anything at the moment.
"Nothing like this castle. What is it called?"
So much for that. "Frakingham House, although some label it Freak House. It's not a castle."
"Freak?"
"It's a person that is not ordinary." Like me.
"Then why not name it Extraordinary House?" He looked to the paneled walls and up to the decorative ceiling rose, hands on hips. "C'est très extraordinaire."
Clearly I wasn't going to get any more from him than that. "You speak French."
