Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  “I’ll count to ten, slowly. Don’t be alarmed if you begin to feel yourself spinning. Just hold on to me and keep your eyes closed. We’ll be back quickly, but you may not realize it for a day or so, for you will likely sleep for a time. When you awaken you’ll find yourself at Castle Tylluan, which is where your body now awaits you, and Niclas will be waiting to greet you.”

  “And various wild Seymours, as well,” Steffan put in, laughing.

  Julia didn’t open her eyes, but smiled.

  “It sounds delightful.”

  “I’ll start counting now,” Kian said. “I have you safe. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I trust you,” she murmured as he said, “One.”

  It was like falling into an exhausted sleep, rather than spinning, though she felt that, too. As Kian counted each number slowly, carefully, Julia’s thoughts faded away into darkness. She tried to keep listening to him, to remain aware of what was happening, but it was impossible. Her spirit self, which had felt very light in this realm, began to grow heavier, and her weariness turned into outright exhaustion. She couldn’t fight the enticing pull of slumber, and, with Kian’s voice growing dimmer and dimmer, she slid away into a deep and welcome sleep.

  “Now, lad, stop your fretting. She’ll come to in another day or so and will be as fit as my new mare. There’s no sense in worrying yourself into the grave.”

  Niclas lifted his gaze from Julia’s still, pale, sleeping form to look at his uncle, who was standing by the fire, holding a pipe in one hand and a cup of whisky in the other. Ffinian Seymour looked nothing like his fine, handsome sons: quite the opposite. He was short in stature, gray in color, and stooped in form. His wild, grizzled hair and beard grew out in all directions, untouched by comb, blade, or scissors for as long as Niclas could remember. And yet, for all his odd appearance, Ffinian had a gift for making women of all ages fall madly in love with him. Niclas had always found it a great, unexplainable mystery, and on top of that, his uncle was half-mad, just as his twin cousins were. What did women find in that to lure them?

  “She’s not a horse,” Niclas told him, wearily rubbing his eyes.

  “Well, I know that as well as any man,” his uncle said with a laugh. “She’s a woman, and a fine-looking one, i’faith. But there’s no need to cast yourself into a gloom simply because the girl’s taking a little nap. It’s a waste of good time—time we might be using to make plans for dealing with my darling Alice.”

  “Uncle,” Niclas said, “I’ve told you well over a dozen times now that we’re not going to make any plans regarding Lady Alice, save these: you’re going to leave her in peace and stop pressing her to wed you. That’s how both she and the Linleys want it, and that’s how it’s going to be. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

  “You’re a stubborn lad,” Ffinian muttered with impatience, “and ever have been. My sweet Alice is just there on the edge of saying yes to my proposal.” He pointed the pipe he held toward an invisible spot somewhere in the middle of the room. “Just there on the edge. One little push and she’s mine! But you, my own flesh and blood,” he said, looking at Niclas with disdain, “won’t even give your loving uncle a tiny little bit of help in his direst moment of need. If you didn’t come to help, you would have done better to stay away altogether.”

  “I came expressly to rescue Lady Alice from your determination to wed her. We are at cross-purposes, uncle, but I promise you that I shall come out the winner in this contest.”

  “Bah!” Ffinian uttered, and took a long sip of whisky. “You have no love for your own family. No loyalty or consideration. Was it not one of your own cousins who just went into that other realm and bravely brought your good lady back to you? Eh? Was it not my own fine lad Kian?”

  “Yes,” Niclas said tautly. “And it was very good of him to do so. I am in Kian’s debt. But one welcome deed cannot sway me from the task for which I came.”

  “And asked no thanks for it,” Ffinian continued, “nor even a kind word. There was not a moment of hesitation when he saw how it was, but he went at once, the very moment you asked it of him.”

  “Yes, Uncle, I am fully aware of just how much I—”

  “And yet here you are,” said Ffinian, “determined to break the lad’s heart by denying him the love and care of a stepmother, a fine lady to look after his brother and him while they’re yet young enough to be shaped by her wise and guiding hand—” He stopped long enough to take another sip of whisky. “And to care for their father in his old age. It’s a shocking thing to see from my own nephew. Your father never raised you to show such ingratitude.”

  Niclas turned his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. If aggravation alone could lift the curse, then dealing with Uncle Ffinian would surely do the trick.

  “And there you are yet again,” Ffinian insisted, fully insulted, “making sounds at your own uncle. And faces! Your dear mother is rolling in her grave at this very moment.”

  “I am not making sounds at you,” Niclas said, just as his cousin Dyfed entered the room.

  “What’s this, Father? Cousin Niclas is making sounds at you, is he?”

  “And faces!” Ffinian declared, his tone filled with insult.

  “I’m doing no such thing,” Niclas insisted, but that only made Dyfed laugh.

  “You held out three days, cfender. That’s a true accomplishment. Earl Graymar lost his temper after only two hours the last time he visited us.”

  “He splintered one of the tables that time,” another voice said from the doorway, and Niclas looked to see Kian standing there, lazily reclining against the frame. His arms were folded across his chest as he took in the room’s occupants, and his manner was, as usual, somewhat lordly and bored. It was a posture that had always aggravated Niclas a little, for it reminded him a good deal of the man whom Kian was to inherit from: Malachi. The boy could at least wait until he was the Dewin Mawr to appear so irritatingly special. “We were obliged to use it for firewood.”

  “Aye,” his father said sadly. “And it was one of the only good large tables we had left.” He shook his head. “It’s a terrible temper the earl has, i’faith, when he’s been pressed. And is that not a great pity, when he’s so fine a lad in his general ways?” He sighed. “But that’s as it ever is with Seymours, or seems to be.” He looked at the assembled young men with a sage expression. “We’ve that lamented, quick and foolish temper, do we not? ’Tis a great shame in so noble a people.”

  “You do not all have such a temper,” a new voice said firmly, and Niclas was glad to see Loris, Ffinian’s adopted ward, standing just outside the doorway, a large pitcher cradled in both hands. She was a mere mortal, and Niclas could feel her emotions. But this was generally a pleasure, for she was as sweet-natured and kind-hearted as she was beautiful, and her feelings were usually gentle.

  Usually. There was one exception, and that was whenever she was in Kian’s company. Not that Kian didn’t deserve Loris’s wrath; he did very little to keep it at bay. In truth, he seemed to do all he could to draw it out. But it wouldn’t have mattered if he was unfailingly sweet to her—it wasn’t possible for Loris to feel anything but animosity for the lad. Magic had made it thus. Like himself, Loris was living beneath a blood curse that, also like himself, had never yet been repaired.

  “Mister Niclas is above all things a gentleman,” she stated. “I’ve never heard a cross word from him unless he’s been driven beyond all reason by one of his less well mannered relatives. And even then”—she smiled warmly at Niclas—“he remains a gentleman.”

  “You would know best, dear Loris,” Kian said mockingly. “You always do.”

  She sent him a dark look and tried to walk into the chamber, but it wasn’t particularly easy; Kian stood in such a way as to oblige her to brush against him in order to move forward. But Loris was no wilting young maiden; she shifted the pitcher and put an elbow into Kian’s stomach with such force that he nearly doubled over. Accordingly, he stepped aside, and Loris, ignoring w
hatever comment it was that Kian muttered beneath his breath as she passed, moved toward the bed with a satisfied smile that mirrored the pleasure Niclas felt emanating from her.

  “I’ve brought fresh water,” she said, pouring some into a bowl set near the bed. “Has she moved at all? No? Well, don’t worry, Mister Seymour. She’ll wake soon, I’m quite sure of it.”

  Niclas hoped she was right; Julia had been asleep for almost two full days following Kian’s return from the other realm. Kian, waking immediately, had assured them that Julia’s spirit had indeed been successfully retrieved, and that appeared to be true, for both color and warmth had begun to return to her body, and her breathing—which had become worrisomely shallow—had grown steadier and deeper.

  Loris wet a cloth with a little of the fresh water and gently dabbed Julia’s face and lips.

  “She’s smiling,” she said softly. “Do you see, Cousin Niclas? I believe she must be having pleasant dreams.”

  “Do you think so?” Kian asked scornfully. “I imagine you know of such things. Your dreams are all so pleasant, are they not, dear Loris?”

  Even before she looked up to spear Kian with a heated glare, Niclas could feel the young woman’s fury. Although she was not able to harbor any affection for Kian, Niclas was still surprised by the keen hatred Loris felt for his younger cousin. The curse she was under didn’t demand such virulence. And yet, there was something else there, too, running beneath her feelings; an emotion that confused him.

  They were all odd people at Castle Tylluan; odd and bewildering. Niclas wasn’t sure he would ever sort out the relationships and how they truly felt about each other.

  Uncle Ffinian was perhaps the simplest to understand. He was merely a wild man, half-mad and entirely determined to have his own way in all things, no matter how insensible. Among Seymours he was the rarity who possessed no magic at all, though Niclas had often thought that his grizzled uncle’s uncanny ability to charm females might possibly be tied to his Seymour blood. But he had proved, through the birth of his sons by a wife who’d been mere mortal, that powerful magic could be passed along despite a Seymour’s lack of gifts.

  Dyfed was a bit more complicated than his father, but not overly. He and Kian were identical in physical features, but entirely different otherwise. Dyfed was a gentle soul, patient and even-tempered. He wasn’t above helping his older brother start riots or wreak havoc, but left to his own pursuits, Dyfed seldom caused trouble. He was a dreamer, thoughtful and bookish. More often than not he did his utmost to talk Kian out of the wilder pursuits that had made the brothers famous in London. The problem, so far as Niclas could tell, was that he didn’t appear to possess the ability to extricate himself from such wildness once it had been set into motion.

  Dyfed’s gift, which Niclas had always thought one of the most welcome among their family, was that of being able to speak without words, directly into the mind, or minds, of anyone he wished—even those who were merely mortal. It had been a problem when he was a child, for Dyfed hadn’t learned to speak until he was nearly seven years old, but had relied entirely upon his mental powers to make himself known.

  Kian was the opposite of his brother. He was wild and boundlessly active, highly intelligent though not bookish, and never had the least difficulty accepting responsibility for his actions. Indeed, he actually seemed to glory in his misdeeds, save when some unfortunate bystander had been harmed. But despite the numerous times Niclas had been obliged to get him out of trouble, it was difficult not to admire the lad.

  Kian possessed what Malachi called “a noble soul.” He was neither cruel nor mean-spirited, save with Loris, and was ever quick to make friends with almost anyone he met. He had an open, generous, and affectionate nature and a searing wit that could either make one smile or send one scuttling for the nearest place of refuge.

  As for magic, Kian was second in power among Seymours only to the earl of Graymar. But he was still a young man, and his abilities would continue to mature as he aged. They were enough now, thankfully, to have successfully retrieved Julia, but one day he would possess almost unimaginable powers.

  As far as Niclas knew, extraordinary wizards never reached any kind of finality in regard to the magic they wielded, but continued to increase in strength until their physical bodies died and they passed into the spirit realm. In this manner no heir to the head of the Seymour clan could successfully challenge the current head, for no matter how much the one increased, the other would increase, as well.

  Not that Niclas thought Kian would ever challenge Malachi. For one thing, he wasn’t exactly pleased at being heir to the earl of Graymar, and for another, he worshipped the ground Malachi walked on. One day, Niclas believed, Kian would make an excellent Dewin Mawr.

  Loris was perhaps the most intriguing piece of the puzzle to be found at Castle Tylluan. She had been orphaned at an early age and left in the care of a nefarious innkeeper in London, and had been but thirteen when that same innkeeper had decided to sell her into prostitution. But Kian, who had then been seventeen (and already in the bad habit of visiting the worst hells in town), had challenged her new master to a game of dice and come away with Loris as his prize. Malachi, who had become involved, hadn’t told Niclas everything, but evidently the fellow who’d lost believed Kian guilty of cheating—which was possible, of course, given that the boy had used magic to win in such games before, though it was strictly forbidden by the rules of their kind. A fight had ensued and, in typical Seymour fashion, yet another tavern had been damaged. Kian had drawn blood on Loris’s behalf, and a blood curse had been placed on her, though she’d been entirely innocent of any of that night’s events. Malachi had done everything in his power to lift the curse, just as he had for Niclas, but to no avail.

  Loris had come to live at Castle Tylluan as Ffinian’s ward and, despite her youth, had immediately taken up management of the estate. Tylluan had been in dire need of a female’s knowing touch for a long while, ever since Niclas’s aunt had died, and even at the age of thirteen Loris proved that she possessed the natural talents required for overseeing such a large dwelling with very few funds at her disposal. The castle was kept meticulously clean, despite the old and somewhat shabby furnishings, and the meals to be had at Tylluan were among the best in Wales. Ffinian, Kian, Dyfed, and all their men were kept well in line—which was something of a miracle, considering the wildness they displayed when left to themselves.

  Loris was a sweet and mild-mannered young woman, and lovely to behold, tall and slender, with an elegance of form and face that had always made Niclas wonder who her family had been. There was nothing coarse or low in her manner, as might have been expected of a girl left orphaned in a filthy dockside tavern, and she was as beautiful as any diamond of the ton. Her dark hair, which she generally wore unbound, was long, thick, and curling, streaked with a multitude of golden strands that shimmered beneath light, sometimes giving the illusion as she moved that Loris was glowing. Her eyes were the color of cinnamon, neither brown nor rust nor gold, but a mixture of all three.

  Loris and Dyfed had recently become betrothed, which surprised Niclas, for he had never been able to discern any particular passion between the two. Dyfed was certainly fond of the girl, as any observer could see, and Loris made a great show of affection for Dyfed, especially when Kian was present. But Niclas couldn’t feel a matching emotion in her breast. Her strongest feelings were all reserved for Kian, and those were always far too angry and muddled for him to sort out.

  “Look,” Loris said, gazing at Julia, and he could feel excitement rise within her. “I think she’s beginning to wake.”

  They all gathered near in anticipation, even Kian, who threw off his boredom and pushed away from the door to come close. Niclas gathered Julia’s hands in his and leaned over her.

  “Julia?”

  She was smiling; Loris had been right about that.

  “I’ve had the most wonderful dream,” she said, and opened her eyes.

  “T
hank God,” Niclas said as she blinked up at him. For one overwhelming moment he felt as if his eyes might start to fill with tears, he was so deeply relieved.

  “There you are,” she said sleepily, a tiny bit of chiding in her tone, though she smiled a little more widely. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Niclas.”

  “I’m here,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I know,” she whispered, and pulled one of her hands free to touch his face. “I could hear your voice calling me. I tried so hard to find you, but you were always just a little too far away. But the search was so lovely, because you kept telling me that you—” She suddenly seemed to realize that they weren’t alone. Blearily, she gazed at the other faces looming over her. She looked for a long moment at Dyfed, then at Kian, finally saying, “Why, Mister Seymour, did you get back safely, then?”

  Kian proffered one of his rare smiles. “I did, indeed,” he replied warmly. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Linley. Welcome to Castle Tylluan. I hope you’ve had a pleasant sleep.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said politely, if yet wearily. “I did. The best of my life. I had such lovely dreams.” She closed her eyes and sighed, then looked about the room once more, taking in Ffinian, Loris, and Dyfed. Especially Dyfed, whom she looked at for a particularly long moment.

  “Niclas,” she murmured, touching his arm.

  “Yes, Julia?”

  “They’re not like those other brothers, are they? The wolves?”

  He laughed out loud, and Loris tried bravely to stifle a giggle. Behind them Ffinian harrumphed, Kian snorted, and Dyfed muttered something indistinguishable.

  “Not exactly,” Niclas said, grinning at Julia’s disconcerted expression.

  “They’re worse,” Loris said, laughing once more. “Much worse.”

  Julia looked at her questioningly, and Loris smiled. “No, they’re not,” she amended. “You have nothing to fear, Miss Linley. I’ll make certain that they leave you in peace.”