Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  “I’ve never smelled anything better in my life,” Julia said with heartfelt honesty. “I hope I can stay awake long enough to eat.”

  “Sit by the fire until I get back, and then we’ll address the matter of food and sleep. I’m only going to see that Enoch is settled. It won’t take long. Julia,” he said, turning her toward him, “tuck this away again.” He touched the necklace with a light finger. “Don’t let anyone else see it, unless it’s absolutely necessary, as it was tonight.”

  She did as he said, and felt a sense of relief to have the astonishing talisman slide beneath her dress once more, safely hidden.

  Niclas covered her shoulders with his hands and gave her a light, comforting squeeze. Looking up into his eyes, she could see that he was just as exhausted as she was.

  “It’s been a long night,” she whispered, smiling. “I think our simple journey has turned into quite an adventure, Mister Seymour.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, his thumbs stroking at the edge of her neckline. “I’m very sorry, Miss Linley, but I think it has.”

  He was so much taller than she that it seemed to take him forever to lower his head, for his lips to find hers.

  From the moment she’d first set eyes on him so many years before, Julia had wondered what it might be like to be kissed by him. And she had spent no small measure of time dreaming of it, too. He’d been so far above her in every way that dreaming, she’d believed, would be as close as she’d ever come to the event actually happening.

  But it was happening—Niclas Seymour’s arms were about her, holding her close, and he was kissing her just as tenderly, just as beautifully as in her dreams. Plain, spotty, failed, on-the-shelf Julia Linley. It was even more astonishing than the Tarian or the mist maiden or the wolves or a dwelling set in the midst of a hill.

  She stood on tiptoe to get even closer, and slid her hand up about his neck to hug his strength and warmth. The feeling was so wonderful that it was something akin to pain—like the pain of the love she’d always felt for him, and the pain of the fear that any moment he’d realize, through his exhaustion, who he was kissing and pull away.

  But he didn’t pull away. If anything, he clasped her more tightly and kissed her more fervently, so that the hat she wore fell to the floor. And even when he finally did bring the kiss to an end he didn’t pull away, but continued to hold her close and press his cheek against her own. She could both feel and hear his harsh breathing against her ear, and was quite certain that he could feel and hear hers against his. She felt as if she’d just run a mile.

  “Your aunt,” he said at last, “is going to kill me. But I don’t care. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since that day when I came to Linley House.”

  Julia laughed and closed her eyes with relief.

  “It’s been much longer for me,” she said, so weary that she felt as if she might fall asleep leaning against him.

  “That’s something I want to ask you about,” he said, pulling back at last to look at her. “But not now. Perhaps tomorrow. Go on and sit by the fire.” His fingers plucked at the wet coat she wore. “You must be freezing in these wet things. We’ll fix that shortly.”

  Turning, he left the little dwelling, shutting the door behind him. Julia meant to do as he said and sit down, but movement seemed impossible. She closed her eyes and stood where she was, listening for his return, half awake, half dreaming.

  She didn’t know how long it was before he came back, bringing the saddlebags with him. He set them on the table and suddenly produced dry clothes—her clothes, which Abercraf had thoughtfully packed.

  “Can you change without aid?” he asked, helping her to shrug out of his heavy coat. “I’d ask Arianrhod—the young lady who greeted us—to attend you, but she’s not quite herself yet.”

  “If you’ll untie the back of my gown, I’ll be fine,” she told him, turning. “Just the top will suffice.”

  He did as she asked, though the strings were wet and difficult to untie. And then he went back outside, into the cold and damp, to guard the door until she had changed. It was heavenly to rid herself of her wet clothes and slip on the simple but dry undergarments and gown that Abercraf had packed. She silently blessed the thoughtfulness of the man, and felt a moment’s gladness that Jane was in his capable care.

  “Now you must change,” she said when he’d returned. “The rain has stopped, hasn’t it?” She moved toward the door; he stopped her, smiling wearily.

  “Those are the only dry clothes you have, presently,” he said. “There’s no sense getting them damp. Come and sit by the fire. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

  She tried to argue, but he couldn’t be swayed and she was far too weary to press the matter. Almost before she knew it she was lying down on one of the beds, her head cradled by a soft pillow and her stomach comfortably full.

  “Sleep well,” Niclas said as he covered her with yet another blanket. “Sleep peacefully.”

  It occurred to Julia, dimly, as her eyes inexorably drifted shut, that he needed to sleep, too. But the thought faded almost as quickly as it came, and she slid into an exhausted slumber.

  The dreams she dreamt were like none she’d ever before experienced. They were vivid, filled with color and sound and emotion and power. She was pulled far back in time to ages past, into the lives of other beings, through valleys and over mountaintops to strange lands. She saw the faces of strangers, yet somehow, she knew who they were. She heard their voices—were they even human?—knew their feelings, and felt their movements.

  And in the midst of some of these dreams she heard Niclas’s voice, low and masculine and weary, speaking in soft, serious tones, answered by a woman. For a few brief moments, rising to wakefulness, Julia realized that he was sitting by the fire, conversing with the lovely creature who had greeted them. He sounded so very tired that she wondered how he could possibly stay awake.

  It was morning before she woke again, though how she knew it, Julia wasn’t sure. There weren’t any windows in the dwelling.

  Slowly she sat and pushed the covers aside, her body stiff from the long slumber, and glanced about. A freshly laid fire was burning in the fireplace, and a large teakettle had taken the place of the pot that had hung over it the night before.

  There was no sign of Niclas, nor of anyone else, but she saw his coat lying across the bed next to her own, and proof that someone had lain upon the pillow, even though the bedding had been left undisturbed.

  The dwelling’s door opened, and Julia turned to see light spilling in upon the floor.

  Two young men entered and stood, staring at her boldly. Two extremely handsome and unusual young men. They were identical in appearance, slender, elegant in form and frame with long, flowing brown hair and extremely fine features. Their garments appeared to have sprung from a much earlier era. They wore tan leggings and plain green tunics—those seemed almost medieval—but the white shirts beneath those tunics possessed voluminous and intricately embroidered sleeves, quite delicate and rather feminine.

  But there was nothing either delicate or feminine about them; indeed, it was very much the opposite. They were fully masculine, and from the way they were looking at Julia, she was uncomfortably aware of being the immediate and sole object of that masculinity.

  “She’s awake, brother,” the one on the right remarked, both his voice and expression filled with sensual admiration. He set the pail of water he’d carried into the dwelling on the table.

  “Aye,” said the other in equal manner, “she is.” His arms were full of wood, and he walked to the fire and with agile grace tumbled them onto the pile already there.

  Then they both turned and started toward her, smiling in a way that Julia found rather alarming.

  “G-good morning,” she stammered, scooting back on the bed and pulling the blankets up to her neck.

  “Good morning,” they said in unison.

  “Is . . . is Niclas, I mean, is Mister Seymour up already?”

  The brothers
exchanged brief glances, then one said, “He is.”

  They kept moving toward her.

  “I’m terribly sorry for taking . . . well, I suppose it was one of your beds last night. Unless it was your sister’s. Which I do hope it was, although, of course, I should never have wished to deprive her of it.” Julia realized, with an inward wince, that she was chattering inanely. But even knowing it, she couldn’t stop. “It was very kind of you to let me . . . us . . . appropriate your beds for the . . . ” She craned her neck to look behind them at the still open door. “Is your sister somewhere nearby? I should like to thank her, too.”

  “There’s no need,” one of them said, coming to sit beside her on one side of the bed. “We were glad to have you sleep here.”

  His eyes, Julia saw, were the color of gold. And they were mesmerizing. Julia found that she had to struggle to look away. But when she turned she nearly bumped into the other brother, who had come to sit on Julia’s other side—very close to her.

  “Yes, we’re very glad to have you here,” he murmured, his tone low and seductive. “Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?”

  A shiver ran up Julia’s spine and she tingled with goose bumps. It was almost as if he had lifted a hand to caress her cheek. Or unbutton her gown.

  The other twin leaned nearer, drawing Julia’s attention and causing her to move farther back.

  “We could feed you,” he said. “Or give you something to drink. Our desire is to meet your needs, my lady, whatever they may be. You’ve only to tell us what it is that you want, and we will obey.”

  The words were so simple and innocent. Why, then, did he make them sound so wickedly and wonderfully suggestive?

  Julia’s head bumped against the wall, but they still came at her, slowly, closer and closer, smiling those alluring, bewitching smiles.

  “Thank you, but I’m perfectly fine,” she assured them as firmly as she could, looking about for a way of escape. Unfortunately, Julia had never been in the position of having to fend off amorous gentlemen, and thus had never acquired the knack. “I should like . . .”

  “Yes?” the one on her right murmured, at last lifting a hand to stroke a single finger lightly down her cheek. “What should you like?”

  “To be left alone, I would imagine,” came an angry voice from the still-open door. Niclas stood there, his hair damp and his face freshly shaven, a towel slung over his shoulder. “Get away from her. Now.” He moved into the dwelling.

  The two younger men obeyed at once, hurriedly moving to the door, where they turned and stared at Niclas with wary eyes.

  “She wears the Tarian,” he told them. “I understand your desire to at least attempt your powers on her, but she’s perfectly able to resist.”

  The brothers smiled, and one said, “She didn’t seem to dislike us.”

  Julia glared at him. “I certainly didn’t invite such behavior,” she stated angrily. “I was about to say that I should like to speak to your sister. Nothing more.”

  “We’ll not see Arianrhod again,” Niclas said. “She won’t return to the dwelling before dark, and we’ll be on our way within the hour, God willing.” To the young men, he said, “We’ll feed and ready ourselves, thank you. Be so good as to leave us in peace.”

  They went obediently, if grudgingly, smiling at Julia until they were out the door.

  “I’m sorry for that,” Niclas said, tossing the towel onto the table. “Gwern and Gwydion have but one desire in life: to seduce as many maidens as they set sight on. Not that I suppose they can help themselves. It was born in them.” He began to run both hands through his damp hair, combing it into place with his long fingers.

  “What are they?” Julia asked. “Faeries?”

  Niclas dropped his hands and looked at her.

  “Faeries?” he repeated. “Do you believe in such things, Julia?”

  She smiled. “I suppose I do now, knowing about you and your family. And about the other families like yours.”

  He gazed at her in silence.

  “You’re not going to throw more blue powder at me, are you?” she asked. “I do hope not, for I can’t think it will do any good.” She reached up to touch the place where the Tarian lay warm between her breasts. “I believe this necklace has greater powers even than you knew. It’s not only made me impervious to present and future enchantments, but seems to have erased all past ones. I remember everything. Our conversation about your family, the blue powder that made me forget, and Cadmaran. I remember it all.”

  “I see,” he said, and was quiet for a moment, considering her words. “In that case,” he said at last, “they are indeed faeries. Tylwyth Teg, to be more precise. The fair people. Though Arionrhod and her brothers have been cursed for well over three hundred years, and so live in a kind of exile from others of their kind.”

  “Cursed?” Julia repeated.

  “It’s far too difficult to explain now,” he said. “Suffice it to say that the brothers offended the wrong sorcerer, and that the tale involves the usual sordid elements.” He waved a hand about. “Seduction, mayhem, deceit, thievery, treachery. Much like so many other tales in the history of my kind.”

  Julia nodded. “I think I dreamed of it last night,” she said. “The history of your people, I mean. It seems that I even dreamed of Arianrhod and her brothers.”

  Niclas looked at her curiously. “That was probably because of the Tarian. It has very strange powers. But dreaming of such odd history seems more like a punishment than a help.”

  She smiled. “It was fascinating.”

  He didn’t appear to believe her, but made no reply. Instead, he picked up the towel and headed for the fire.

  “For now, let us put history behind us and see what Arionrhod has for us to eat. We must make haste. I want to get a good start before Cadmaran discovers our deception and comes looking for us.”

  Ten

  They kept to the trees as much as they could; Niclas let Enoch choose his own path, for the horse knew their destination and how to get there as safely as possible.

  Julia was silent for much of the morning, though it was a comfortable silence without anger. She leaned against him, fitted in the crook of his arm, small and warm and relaxed. She seemed not to care about the danger or discomfort of their situation, but gazed at the passing scenery with a quiet smile.

  “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” she said at last. “I’ve always loved Wales. My aunt says it’s wild and uncivilized, but I find it to be the most charming countryside in England.”

  “Parts of it are still wild and even severe,” Niclas confessed. “But those are the places I find most beautiful. And those areas that are most civilized here grieve my heart. So much of the land has been spoiled by mining.”

  “Lady Eunice approves of that, of course.”

  “I rather thought she would.”

  Another comfortable silence followed, and Niclas thought again of how pleasant it was to be in Julia’s company, enjoying the beauty of the morning and the surroundings, without knowing her feelings. She was happy and relaxed—he could tell that from her countenance and the way she rested against him. But there was nothing else. Just peace. And pleasure.

  She remembered everything, she’d said. He didn’t know quite what to make of that. He’d certainly not expected the Tarian to erase past magic, only to protect her when she wore it. More baffling was that Malachi hadn’t known it.

  Or had he?

  “Tell me about your family,” he said, pushing the disturbing idea from his mind. Malachi was a scoundrel, but surely he’d not have left out so important a detail on purpose.

  She sighed. “There’s not very much to say, I’m afraid. There’s nothing remotely interesting about them. They’re very—”

  “Stubborn,” Niclas supplied, and was delighted to hear her laugh.

  “Oh, yes, they are that. We’re famous for it, as you know. But we’re also very respectable. And reliably consistent. And very dull.” Sh
e sighed again.

  “You’re not dull,” he said. “And from Lady Eunice’s description, your aunt Lady Alice doesn’t sound dull.”

  “No, she’s not. Not at all,” Julia replied meaningfully. “Aunt Alice is famous among Linleys as our great exception. She’s discussed at length at every family gathering, always with many shakings of heads and dark frowns, and is pointed out to the children as an example of what not to be. Among all my relations, I can scarce think of one I admire more. Which is a good thing, I suppose, as I have frequently been informed by my parents and Aunt Eunice that I have the unfortunate tendency to be like Aunt Alice.”

  “Interesting and free-spirited, do you mean?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “A great disappointment to the family. A disgrace.”

  Niclas was surprised at the anger that rose up in him at the words.

  “You’re no such thing,” he said more heatedly than he’d intended.

  She turned her head slightly to peer up at him, her blue eyes radiant with the sunlight that streamed through the trees.

  “It is true, I’m afraid. I have done the unforgivable by not marrying.”

  “That can scarce be your fault,” he told her. “If the men in England are such idiots as to let so beautiful a female pass through their nets untethered, then they’re to blame. Not you.”

  She smiled faintly, then turned forward once more.

  “I had offers. Three, actually. My sin was in not accepting any of them. I did try,” she said, “and they were all very nice, sincere gentlemen—”

  At this, Niclas sniffed loudly, disbelieving.

  “—but I simply couldn’t bring myself to make that final choice. It was foolish of me, I confess, for here I am, well on the shelf and likely to remain there.”

  He made another sound, this time of disagreement. “You make too much of it. You’re hardly old enough to be out of the schoolroom, let alone on the shelf.”

  “I am five and twenty,” she said, and he could hear a touch of embarrassment in her tone. “I am no longer so foolish as to dream of marriage. And, of course, I am a great burden to my family, as they are often given to reminding me. My days are filled with duty and responsibility, and always will be.” She looked at him once more, smiling against the sorrow in her voice. “And that is why you find yourself stuck with me on this journey, Mister Seymour, and why my poor, dear aunt Alice must suffer my coming. Because I owe it to my family to make certain that she doesn’t embarrass them any further.”