A redhead popped up a few feet away, in the spot where Niclas had tossed him.
“Niclas?” a thoroughly shocked voice asked. “Can that be you, cfender?”
“Aye, it’s me, you empty-headed fool! What do you mean by attacking this lady and me in so foul a manner? And don’t tell me you never knew it wasn’t me. You’ve vowed never to rob a relative, you lying thief.”
Two of Steffan’s men rushed to help their leader to his feet. They followed, brushing mud and leaves from his clothes as he strode forward.
“I swear I didn’t know it was you, Niclas,” he vowed, pushing long, copper-colored locks from his singularly handsome face. “I assumed it was Malachi. I felt his magic and sensed that the horse was Enoch.” He came to a stop inches from where Niclas stood, his countenance smeared with dirt and set sternly with concentration. “Is he not here with you? That is Enoch, is it not? And there is a lady. Beautiful. Delicate.” His sightless eyes turned toward Julia. “Ah, yes. Your lady, is she, Niclas?”
Niclas was in no mood for his wild cousin’s jests. His back hurt like the very devil and blood was trickling from his forehead into his eyes. His entire body felt as if it had been thrown upon a pile of rocks. Reaching out, he grasped his cousin by the neckcloth and dragged him near.
“You’ll watch your tongue, Steffan Seymour, or feel my fist. That lady is noble-born and bears the magic that has left you so confused. You and your men will treat her with the greatest respect. Do you understand me, cfender?”
Steffan cleared his throat and waved at his men to stand down.
“Completely,” he assured Niclas. “Fully and utterly. I apologize with every regret, both for the insult and the attack. I meant it for a jest, I swear, but on Malachi, not you. Never you, Niclas.” He lifted a hand to cover the one that Niclas held on his shirt. “I should never be so foolish as that.”
Niclas let him go, still furiously angry.
“You make a habit of attacking the earl of Graymar as a jest, do you? No doubt Malachi takes pleasure in such sport and gives back as good as he gets, but I’ll not suffer another such greeting.”
“Of course not,” Steffan agreed. “I know that perfectly well. I’ve never accosted you in like manner before, have I? Come, forgive me and give me your hand in greeting, and tell me why you’re traveling so far from the road, riding the Dewin Mawr’s steed, with a lovely lady in your care. She bears the Tarian, does she not? I feel it more closely now. That’s why I took you for Malachi, for I felt the magic of the Tarian and mistook it for his power, and recognized Enoch’s presence. It was an honest mistake, cfender,” he said coaxingly. “Surely you’ll forgive me for it.”
Niclas didn’t want to forgive the damned scoundrel, especially not while his back ached as it did, but he supposed the mistake had been understandable. Steffan couldn’t have used his eyes to see who was riding Enoch, after all, and his men wouldn’t dare to contradict him with the truth. They were standing about looking shamefaced, and as at least three of them were not of magical lineage, Niclas could feel their genuine embarrassment and no small amount of fear. With an effort, he forced his anger down.
“You might have harmed Miss Linley,” Niclas said gruffly. “But as you did not, if she is willing to accept your apology, I’ll do so, as well. Come and be introduced.”
“With pleasure,” Steffan replied happily, running his fingers through his long hair in a vain effort to straighten the tangled red locks. “There is nothing I love better than meeting a beautiful woman.”
Eleven
Steffan Seymour was an amazing man to behold. Julia had never seen anyone of such high birth look so . . . wild and untamed. He possessed the same slender but masculine build as the earl of Graymar, and similarly refined features. But there the resemblance ended.
His hair was copper red, a wild, tangled mass that was so long it fell midway to his back. His clothes were common and ragged, the kind of outfit one might expect to find a highwayman wearing, but certainly not someone in the wealthy Seymour clan.
Most surprising of all, however, was the fact that although he was blind, he was able to move without any aid at all. His steps, as he accompanied Niclas toward where Julia stood, were certain and unfaltering, though his gaze wandered upward, unfocused. He walked right toward her just as if he could see her, and stopped before her with an expectant smile on his face.
Niclas, on the other hand, stood rigid with little-diminished anger.
“Miss Julia Linley,” he said stiffly, “may I present to you my cousin Steffan Seymour. Steffan, Miss Julia Linley.”
“Miss Linley,” Steffan said with deft eloquence, bowing deeply before reaching for her hand. “A very great pleasure, indeed.”
Julia was fascinated to see that he took her proffered hand with accuracy, though his eyes never once drifted to her face. He bowed again, kissing her fingers with courteous grace before releasing her and standing fully upright. Whatever his present circumstances might be, he’d obviously been raised to be a gentleman.
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” she replied, nodding.
“No apology can possibly make amends for my—our”—he motioned to where his men stood—“most unfortunate manner of greeting you and my dear cousin, but I pray you’ll accept our deepest and most sincere regrets. We should never have offered so grave an insult to so lovely a lady if we—I—had but realized who you were. Forgive us, kind Miss Linley. Forgive me, most of all.”
She could scarce resist so splendid an apology, despite being wet and muddy from their attack.
“Of a certainty, sir,” she assured him. “I understand full well how it must have seemed to you. I’m certain your cousin joins me in absolving you of any wrongdoing.”
Niclas grumbled loudly, but said nothing to the contrary.
Steffan bowed low. “You are as noble in heart as you are beautiful in form. I thank you for such unwarranted and gracious kindness, Miss Linley. But what are you doing with my lordly cousin in such an unlikely place? Bearing the Tarian, no less?”
“We are on our way to Tylluan, to visit Uncle Ffinian,” Niclas replied. “Miss Linley’s aunt is his neighbor, and Ffinian is making a pest of himself. As usual.”
“Uncle Ffinian, is it?” said Steffan. “And Kian and Dyfed, as well. God save you, cfender, but if he has to be reasoned with, ’tis far better you than me. And now,” he said more loudly, straightening and addressing his men, “we must do whatever we can to make right our wrongs. A safe place, a warm fire, a fine meal, and a washing of clothes should make a good beginning. And a fine drink, as well,” he added with a charming smile, turning to Niclas. “What do you say to that, cfender?”
“Do you have a safe place where we might accomplish all these things?”
“Very safe,” was the reply. “Even Malachi would have difficulty finding us.”
“What about Cadmaran? Would he find it difficult?”
“The earl of Llew?” Steffan said, sobering at once. “Aye, he would. But he’s not anywhere hereabouts, is he? I’ve heard nothing of him for two days, since he crossed the border toward London.”
“Excellent,” said Niclas, and Julia shared his relief. “In that case, lead on, and take us to your safe spot. We accept your offer of hospitality, crude as it may be.”
Steffan laughed. “Crude, you say? You shall see, cousin, and take back the insult. Come, men! Fetch the horses and let us be on our way to show our guests such hospitality as only we can offer.”
An hour later, after following so many winding paths that Julia could never have found her way there again without help, they arrived at a sheltered camp hidden deep in a forest that abutted an abrupt rise of mountainous rock. Fissures in the rock revealed several caves, and in these Steffan and his men had created crude dwellings. It was to the largest of these, once they had all dismounted, that Steffan escorted Niclas and Julia.
“My humble home,” he said, bowing grandly with one arm sweeping toward the entrance, which was covered
by a dirty, tattered curtain of leather that had been nailed into the rock. “Welcome to you both.”
They went in first, followed by Steffan, and were greeted by cold darkness, made even darker the moment the leather flap fell.
“Sit!” Steffan adjured happily, moving about without trouble, dragging what sounded like chairs across the dirt floor. “Make yourselves comfortable and I’ll light a fire and get you something warming to drink. I’ve a very good wine and some excellent whisky—Miss Linley won’t want that, of course, but I’m sure you’ll have a glass or two, Niclas. My men have instructions to roast the rabbits that we came across earlier in the day, and we’ve a goodly supply of bread and cheese. We’ll be quite merry and comfortable in a trice.”
Julia expected Niclas to say something about the darkness, at least to remind his cousin that they, unlike he, required light in order to function, but he stayed silent. She felt him moving beside her, and then there came a soft glow of light between them.
She looked down and saw what it was—a small white rock lying on the palm of his hand, glowing like a candle. He spoke to it in Welsh and its light increased dramatically, gently illuminating the entire cave.
Julia glanced up at Niclas, now visible, and saw that he was looking rather disgruntled.
“That dratted Malachi,” he murmured, more to himself than her. “He is always right. Blast him.”
“What’s that?” Steffan said from the middle of the cave, where he was building a small fire in a ring of rocks. “Malachi’s been ordering you about again, has he? That’s his habit with all of us. Very bossy fellow is our Lord Graymar.”
“Aye, that he is,” Niclas agreed, “but in this instance I’m glad of it. He filled my pockets with stones. I think you know which ones I mean. Don’t you keep any lamps or candles in here for the sighted, Steffan?”
“Ah, that’s what it is. You have one of those stones with you. I’ve never possessed one. Never needed it. Just as I don’t need lamps or candles. But fire, now,” he said with open affection, “is one of the great loves of my life. Next to water and air.”
He struck a match and set it upon the small pile of wood he’d collected, then added a pinch of powder from a little stone bowl set nearby. The flames sparked and rapidly spread, quickly creating a fine fire that gave additional light to the small space. Steffan Seymour, still kneeling, held his hands over it in a caressing manner, closing his eyes and smiling and murmuring. Within moments he appeared to have forgotten that he had guests.
“He’s speaking to the fire,” Julia stated as calmly as she could, staring at the sight.
“To the spirits in the fire,” Niclas corrected in an equally level manner. “It’s a greeting, merely. It will be over in a moment. If he had something to speak to them about it would take forever, believe me. I don’t know why it is, but they always want to take a long time with Steffan.”
Though she knew it was rude, Julia couldn’t tamp down her rampant curiosity and, still mildly, asked, “Your cousin converses with spirits?”
“Yes,” Niclas replied with a sigh. “I know how it must seem to you, but it’s quite normal to speak to other sorts of beings in my family.”
“As you spoke with the faeries last night. Arionrhod and her brothers.”
He nodded. “But Steffan is a greater wizard, a dewin, and possesses a far more powerful gift. He was born a mystic—and a redheaded one, which is very rare. You can see that he scarcely misses possessing the kind of physical sight we enjoy.”
“Yes, indeed,” she murmured. “It’s marvelous. But surely he sees a little, for he seems to know exactly where everything—and everyone—is. When you introduced us it seemed as if he could see me perfectly well, even though his eyes weren’t turned toward me.”
“And so he could, in his way,” Niclas said, “but I promise you it’s not the kind of sight that you and I were born with. You must take every care with Steffan. He sees a great deal more than mere eyes can offer. Never let him fool you to think otherwise,” he warned. “He’s taken advantage of young ladies before by pretending to be harmless.”
Julia had already had the same thought.
“He’s very charming,” she said, smiling when she saw Niclas frown at the remark. “I think that’s true of your entire family. It’s part of the magic you’re born with.” When he didn’t appear to be mollified by this, she tried to turn his attention back to their original topic. “And this is because he was born with red hair? What an unusual family heritage.”
“It is, I suppose,” he said. “Seymours are generally of blond or brunet shades, and some are raven-haired, but once or twice in a generation a redheaded child will be born, and these are more powerfully magic than most of their more common relatives. My cousin Ceridwen has red hair.”
That explained part of why the earl of Llew wanted her, Julia thought, but it only made Steffan Seymour a greater mystery. He was clearly powerful, yet he lived in these odd surroundings and spent his days as a highwayman. It was incredible that his family, especially Lord Graymar, would leave him to pursue his life in a cave.
Not that there was anything wrong with the cave, apart from having no actual door. It appeared to be comfortable enough for a lone man. There were four simple wooden chairs—none of which matched—a small table, a rather large side table across which a collection of crude pottery was strewn, bowls, pitchers, cups, and plates. Another table, not too far away, was adorned with a large kettle, some rags, silverware, and several wrapped items that were unidentifiable.
Steffan rose from his adoration of the fire at last. “Now, first things first,” he said, smiling widely. “We must get you both clean. Miss Linley may remove her garments here in my dwelling, and you may go outside, cousin. There’s a stream nearby for washing, and my men will be glad to do the deed while I make you both comfortable here with the fire and some drink. There are blankets aplenty to cover yourselves with until your clothes are dry.”
Julia exchanged wary glances with Niclas, but before either of them could speak, Steffan said, “Not shy, are we? What, with a blind man before you? How foolish. Why, Niclas, cfender, how could you—”
“Steffan.” Niclas cut him off. “Miss Linley is not a fool, and I know you would not make the mistake of taking me for one. You’ve one of Malachi’s drying powders here, do you not?”
Steffan frowned, and said, reluctantly, “I might.”
“Give it to me, then,” Niclas said, “and I shall see to the washing and drying of Miss Linley’s garments. She will stay here alone, and you and your men shall abide without the camp, guarding, until I call you back.”
Steffan was scowling now. “Are you suggesting that I should ever—”
“And then,” Niclas went on, “we shall enjoy the kind hospitality you’ve offered. After Miss Linley is fully dressed and perfectly comfortable.”
“You’re a cruel man,” Steffan muttered unhappily, “but for Miss Linley’s sake I shall make no argument, lest she think me a scoundrel.”
“I shall not think so, I promise,” Julia assured him. “I know you are a Seymour, sir.”
Niclas said, “That’s assurance of very little,” but Steffan brightened and replied, “Aye, and that I am, miss. A gentleman by birth, regardless of what my cousin may say of me.”
“I speak only the truth,” Niclas told him.
Steffan laughed and moved to the sideboard. “The truth is as fluid as water among our folk. Here is a sip of wine for you, Miss Linley, to warm yourself after we’ve gone. You’ll find blankets on the bed to wrap yourself in. They’re not grand, but they’re free of vermin, I vow. It’s the one thing I ask of all creatures and spirits, to leave my slumber in peace, for it’s terrible to be constantly waked with their play and nonsense.”
They left her after that. Julia undressed and, having wrapped herself demurely in one of Steffan’s blankets, set her things outside the leather flap. She heard Niclas on the other side, picking them up.
“This wi
ll only take a few moments,” he said, and then walked away. A long silence followed, broken now and then by the sound of Enoch and the other horses in their fenced area near the caves.
Julia drank some of Steffan’s wine and looked about the sparse dwelling, better lit now by three of the little white stones that Niclas had laid in various spots before he’d left. She touched one with a fingertip and was surprised to find that it wasn’t the least bit warm.
“Julia?” It was Niclas.
“I’m here.”
“I’ll lay your clothes where you set them. There’s no one here save me to see you retrieve them, and I’ll keep my back turned. Tell me when you’re dressed again and I’ll go down to the stream to wash my own things.”
Everything was wonderfully clean and perfectly dry; of all the magic Julia had encountered thus far on the journey, this was the most amazing. The fine cloth of her dress was neither damaged nor wrinkled. If possible, it looked as well as it had the first time she’d worn it some months before.
“If he weren’t a gentleman,” she murmured, running her hands over the material, “he’d make a wonderful laundress.”
The men shortly returned to the camp and Julia could hear them talking and laughing, Niclas’s voice markedly refined and measured against the jolly coarseness of the rest.
They were a merry party when Julia finally joined them a little while later. Steffan bowed grandly at her approach and introduced his men, all of whom seemed a little shy at having a woman in their midst. Niclas smiled and offered his arm to lead her to the fire they’d started in the center of the camp, and over which several rabbits were presently roasting, filling the air with a wonderful aroma.
A proper chair was brought for her to sit in and Steffan himself poured her a cup of wine.
“We’ve never had a lady visit with us before now, miss,” he said, sitting beside her on one of several wooden stumps arranged about the fire. “It’s a fine treat for us, i’faith.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mister Seymour,” Julia said truthfully. “My life has been rather dull before now. I shall recall my time here, and these past few days, with great fondness, I believe, once I’ve returned to London and resumed that placid life.”
Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] Page 17
