Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  “Sir!” It was Huw, hovering in the background. “Forgive me, but one of the horses has lost a shoe. Frank Coachman begs that you come at once and tell him what you wish.”

  Niclas’s distracted gaze moved from the couple before him to his stableboy to the young man still sitting in the far corner. “I can’t come now . . . in a moment. Jane, I do hope you’re feeling better. Come in and be comfortable. Abercraf, see that she has a proper tea. Excuse me, please.”

  “But sir, Frank says he must know right away whether you want to wait for the horse to be shoed or a new horse in its . . . place”

  Noise and confusion, just as if every person in the entire inn, save Miss Linley, were shouting at him. Niclas had tried to explain it to Malachi, but it was truly impossible to describe. The innkeeper stood off to one side, alarmed, perhaps because of the situation with the horse or Huw’s raised voice. Jane was both alarmed and afraid, Abercraf was concerned, the vast majority of patrons in the main room were filled with curiosity, and Huw was increasingly exasperated. Above all, the young man in the corner, who wasn’t paying attention to any of them, sat head in hands, his tormented grief becoming almost unbearable.

  Niclas had to force himself to focus on Huw’s animated face—what else could he do when the lad was standing right in front of him?—and listen to what he was saying.

  A horse had thrown a shoe. A decision had to be made. Frank wanted him. Now.

  “I—”

  Grief and pain made it impossible to think. He had a strong urge to bash the depressed young man on the head and make it stop before either of them did something unforgivable. And what was that coming from Abercraf now? It felt unmistakably like lust. For Jane.

  God help him, that was just what he needed.

  “Sir? What shall I tell him?”

  Tell him? Niclas tried to think of what he wanted to do. The innkeeper’s alarm was growing stronger. Not surprising given that one of his customers was standing like a complete fool, unable to speak to his own servants.

  And then, suddenly, it was gone. All of it. Gone.

  The tumult in his brain silenced, leaving only the sweet peace of sound in his ears. Normal sound, such as any man felt in a crowd.

  “Tell the coachman that Mister Seymour will be with him in a moment.”

  It was Miss Linley. She was standing there beside him, touching his hand. Miss Julia Linley, whose emotions he still couldn’t feel, had made it all go away merely by touching his bare hand with hers.

  Niclas stared down at where her ungloved fingers rested lightly upon his hand, and what he could feel—all he could feel—was peace flowing from her simple touch. He could actually feel it, though it was a physical sensation, not emotional.

  “Will that be all right?”

  She had been speaking to him, and he hadn’t even heard her. Now he knew how closely they had to touch for her to give him complete peace—flesh upon flesh. Even in this simple manner.

  “What?” he said stupidly, lifting his head to look into her eyes.

  “I’ll speak with the young man,” she said. “You go and tend to the coach.”

  Now he could feel something—his own alarm.

  “Speak to him? You? To a strange man? No, that isn’t a good—”

  “Please don’t worry,” she said reassuringly, patting his hand. Each release and touch was a striking contrast, from peace to clamor, silence to noise. His head was spinning with the fact of it, yet he couldn’t fathom what it meant. This was magic, a gift, something akin to what he’d been born with. Surely it was proof that she was one of his kind.

  But suddenly her hand was gone altogether, leaving him in chaos, and with a brilliant smile she turned and began to walk toward the grief-stricken lad.

  Niclas reached out and grasped her by the elbow. Covered by the cloth of her dress, he found only that much dimmed relief that he’d known at the ball. And that was hardly enough to halt the surge of interest, admiration, and outright lust that he felt emanating from the male patrons at the inn, many of whom had fixed their gazes on Miss Linley’s attractive person.

  “Miss Linley, I must insist that you return to the parlor and finish your tea.”

  She kept smiling, but showed no inclination to obey.

  “I shall be fine, I promise you, Mister Seymour. I know you don’t wish to delay our departure, and to that end it makes more sense for you to attend to the matter of the horse.”

  “The horse will wait,” he said sternly. “I can’t have you speaking to strange men. Lady Eunice would have my head on a platter, to say nothing of my cousin, Earl Gray-mar, and I’d not blame either of them for it.”

  “They need not know,” she said, then innocently touched his hand once more, plunging him into that delightful peace. “Trust me in this, please. I’m confident that I can handle the matter perfectly well. I have a gift with words—it’s true, I assure you. And speaking to so young a gentleman can be of no consequence to my standing in society.” She smiled that certain smile once more; the one that made his heart turn over. “I’ve already no chance of marrying, so there’s no fear my reputation will be ruined by such small scandal. Go and reassure the coachman. I’m sure he’s concerned about how best to proceed.”

  Yes, Niclas thought dimly as he—and the rest of those present in the inn—watched her walk away. Frank was worried, if Huw’s anxiety was anything to go by.

  He should go after her, he told himself, striving to push his own thoughts past the increased volume of emotions flooding at him. He should drag her back to the private parlor by force and have the innkeeper lock her in. But he couldn’t. She had asked him to give her a measure of trust, and he couldn’t find it in himself to deny the simple request, regardless of what his duty as a gentleman might be. He only prayed that Lady Eunice never heard of it.

  Niclas turned back to Huw, whose worried expression perfectly matched his emotions.

  “Take me to Frank,” he said, “and we’ll get this matter of the horse settled.”

  The decision was quickly made, though he understood Frank’s dilemma in making it on his own. The horse was too good to leave behind, but waiting for the local village smithy to shoe it was out of the question. Ioan would remain behind while the rest went ahead to Coventry with the help of a rented horse, and would follow as soon as possible. Within ten minutes the arrangements had been made and Niclas anxiously made his way back into the inn.

  And immediately grew angry. Far too many of the patrons were indulging themselves in strong admiration of Miss Linley, and worse. If their wives and ladyfriends could divine their feelings as Niclas could, those same men would shortly find their ears soundly and rightfully boxed.

  But that, Niclas told himself, was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. He admired Miss Linley, too, and far more than he should.

  She was sitting with the young man in the corner near the fire, the gold in her brown hair shining and her lovely, smiling face lit by the flames as she spoke to him. The lad’s grief, Niclas felt, was yet present, but surprisingly lessened. Julia Linley, it seemed, had not only told the truth bout having a gift with words, but was a fast worker.

  “Miss Linley,” he said when he reached her side. He nodded at the young man—Niclas could see now that he was really closer to being a youth—who had looked up at his approach. Wonderment and a touch of apprehension mixed with the boy’s pain, and Niclas strove to soften what he knew were his sometimes harsh features.

  “Mister Seymour, I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, smiling up at him with real welcome. “Is the carriage waiting? I’m sure Jane will be ready to go by now. This kind young man has been bearing me company until your return. Mister Alexander Larter, this is Mister Niclas Seymour, of whom I was telling you. Mister Larter has a farm nearby,” she chattered on pleasantly, “which he has just inherited. It’s quite a large farm, and a great deal of work for him to manage alone.”

  “I see,” Niclas said with a nod, taking the boy’s hand in
greeting as he politely stood. “You’ve no family to help you, then? No brothers or sisters? Your parents are both gone?”

  The boy nodded and looked as if he might start to weep—again, Niclas noted, for it was clear by his reddened eyes that he’d been doing a good deal of it already.

  “My mother died last year. I’ve just buried my father two days past.” The last few words came out in a whisper.

  So that was it, the source of his pain. But there was something more, too. Niclas could feel it.

  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” he murmured, taking the boy’s arm and pulling him back down into his chair even as he, himself, sat, placing himself between Julia and the lad. “I perceive that your father’s death has meant some trouble with your farm?”

  “It’s my trouble, sir,” the boy said miserably. “I shouldn’t be speaking of it, especially not to such a fine lady and gentleman. It’s not right that you should even take notice of me.”

  He looked to be about seventeen. So incredibly young. Niclas had lost his own father when he’d been only a year older, and remembered very well how alone and bewildered he’d felt.

  But the boy was calmer now; he was still filled with despair, aye, but not thinking of a way to end that despair.

  Niclas tried to concentrate on this one person’s feelings and not the myriad others tiding toward him. None of them was so important as this, or so desperate. He saw Julia’s bare hands folded politely on the tabletop and longed to touch them and find peace.

  Alexander Larter. Focus. He could help this boy. He could help to soothe the despair. If he could only focus.

  And then he could. Julia had reached out to touch his hand in order to gain his attention, and before she could pull away he’d clapped his other hand over it, trapping her.

  Her eyes widened a little, but she didn’t try to pull away. Clearing her throat, she said, in the same light tone she’d used before, “Mister Larter has discovered that his father left his estate in debt. And he has no close relatives to turn to for help and advice. He’s just this morning had to send away the couple who worked on the farm—an elderly couple who were very like family to him.”

  Julia Linley was a miracle, he decided, deeply enjoying the quiet that her touch gifted him with. She possessed the best magic he’d ever come across in his life—and considering his life, that was saying a great deal.

  “It’s a terrible shame, is it not, Mister Seymour?”

  “Yes,” he said, gazing into her lovely face and thinking of how pleasant it was to look at a beautiful woman and be able to concentrate solely on her without the usual distractions. “It is.”

  Her hand pressed slightly within his grasp, recalling him to his senses.

  “Yes,” he said more firmly, turning again to Alexander Larter, who had once more covered his face with his hands. “It is. Now I want you to tell me everything, Mister Larter. I have a problem at the moment, too, and I believe I may have a solution that will benefit both of us.”

  He truly was a kind man, Julia thought half an hour later as Niclas Seymour handed her into his carriage. He had managed the situation perfectly, making Alexander Larter believe that he would be doing him a great favor by accepting both his monetary assistance and the help of a few fine fellows who were in want of work in exchange for a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. She knew very well, of course, that Niclas Seymour would secretly be paying their wages. And he had insisted that the elderly couple return to Mister Larter’s farm at his expense, as well, for all those fine young fellows would require a great deal of food and care, and someone must be there to provide it for them.

  It had all been managed so quickly and easily that she was certain he must have done it many times before.

  Her only question, which she kept to herself as she folded her skirts about her legs, was whether he always did so holding someone’s hand as tightly as he’d held hers.

  “We should be in Coventry before dark,” he said before shutting the door. “Are you quite comfortable now, Jane? The pain is gone, is it not?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you, sir,” Jane replied, leaning forward to look him in the face. “I do apologize for the delay.”

  He smiled at her warmly. “Except for your discomfort, I’m glad of it,” he said. “I would have spared you that, if I could, but I cannot be sorry now for stopping.” He looked at Julia and held her gaze. “It was,” he said, “quite an unexpected pleasure.”

  Six

  Is everything ready?”

  “Quite ready, sir.”

  “Then I suppose we should go down.”

  “Yes, sir. I believe Miss Linley is waiting.”

  Niclas surveyed his image in the mirror, thinking back to the last moment when he’d spent so much time and care on his appearance. It had only been three nights past, before the Dubrow ball. It seemed like much, much longer.

  He wished he possessed more modern clothes. Except for the one fine outfit that Malachi had sent him—which definitely was not suitable outside a formal setting—his wardrobe was years out of date. But that was his just due for growing so careless of what anyone thought of him. Now, when he cared too much, he had nothing at hand to impress the lone person whose good opinion he craved.

  God help him, he was nigh on infatuated with the woman. Which was terrible. Unwise. Completely wrong in every way. But unavoidable. He might have been born into an odd family, but his heart was perfectly normal, and just as vulnerable and unruly as any other man’s.

  But it was harder for him, because even above her beauty and intellect and wit, which were sufficiently dazzling, was her ability to give him peace—something that no one had ever been able to give him before. Certainly no woman: other women filled his mind with their emotions, and his female relatives made him insane with their antics.

  Julia Linley did neither. She was as clean and sweet to him as fresh air might be to a coal miner coming out into the new morning after hours of being entombed in darkness and dust. Even now he felt the anticipation of being with her again, of being in the company of a beautiful woman without having all her emotions distracting his thoughts. Just as other men did. She made him feel so... normal.

  The question he still couldn’t answer was, Why? How could she only be a Linley and yet possess powers akin to magical families? She would know—she must know—what her powers were. Yet she gave no sign of such understanding.

  And there was something more. She had said this afternoon that she had a gift with words, and he had assumed that she’d meant in a natural, human sense. But now, thinking upon it, he wasn’t so sure. Among his kind were those who had been born with the gift of persuasion; it was rare, granted, and usually only fell once in a generation, yet it wasn’t impossible that she should possess such a power.

  He’d seen her wielding it with Alexander Larter that very afternoon. She’d held the lad completely within her sway, drawing him out of despair and into hope. By the time they’d left the inn, young Larter had actually been smiling and making plans for his future. Niclas knew full well that the boy’s transformation had very little to do with the small aid he was providing, and a great deal to do with Miss Linley’s enticing speeches.

  They had left the young man full of hope, while Niclas had been plunged into even greater bewilderment. Was he on a fool’s errand? And what, precisely, was he getting himself into by becoming involved with someone who possessed unknown magic?

  He was going to uncover the mystery of Miss Julia Linley now, before their journey continued, so that he would at least know what he was dealing with, and to that purpose, he had a plan. Not a very good plan, but a plan, nonetheless. He was simply going to ask her straight out whether she was of his kind. If she feigned shock, he’d know. If she was shocked . . . well, he had a plan for that, too. Thanks to Malachi and his forgetting powder.

  “Do you have it, then?”

  “Yes, sir. I have it here. Are you quite certain you wish to take it with you?”


  Niclas looked at Abercraf’s reflection in the mirror. He felt just how anxious the older man was, and was in complete sympathy with him. It was always a tricky business using one of Malachi’s powders or potions in public places. Discovery by others at the inn would be disastrous; Niclas would probably have to toss powder at every single occupant in order to make certain no one could remember. Gad, what a thought.

  “What I would like to do is throw it down a high cliff, or into a well, or out to the middle of a very large lake—but that would never serve.”

  “No,” Abercraf agreed. “Someone would find it, I fear.”

  “They would find it,” Niclas said. “Faeries. Or, worse, brownies. And then they’d tell Malachi, and I don’t even want to think of what would happen after that.”

  “He is the Dewin Mawr, sir. The great sorcerer. They’ve no choice but to do his bidding. For my own part, I shall rest much easier once we’ve crossed into Wales, knowing they’re keeping their eyes on us.”

  “They’re not all to be trusted, Abercraf,” Niclas warned. “Bear that in mind. Now, the powder.”

  “Here it is, sir.”

  Abercraf handed Niclas the velvet pouch, and they both gazed at it soberly.

  “How much should I use?” Niclas asked. He had very little experience with Malachi’s mixtures, excepting the potions he’d drunk since the curse, and no experience at all with forgetting powders. “How much will she forget? I don’t want to erase her entire memory.” He looked up at Abercraf, who only shook his head. “Why didn’t I ask him for specifics? Oh, gad,” he said as realization dawned. “I can’t use it without knowing what the effects will be. The wrong dose and she might forget everything she knows—even her name.” He held the bag back toward the manservant. “I can’t take it. Put it away where it will be entirely safe.”

  Abercraf obediently took the bag, but held it back out to his employer. “I do apologize, sir, but I can’t think there’s any other choice open to you. If Miss Linley is, indeed, of magic blood, then all will be well and good. But if she is not, it will be even more necessary that she be made to forget. And consider, too, sir, that if she shouldn’t be what you believe, she might very well become alarmed by the revelations you must necessarily make. We wouldn’t want her fainting. Or worse.”