Jo Beverley

by Forbidden Magic

  “Fifteen years ago, perhaps?”

  A strange silence hung in the air. “You’ve always known, have you?” He gave a sharp laugh. “No wonder you’ve set yourself against her.”

  The two men seemed totally focussed on each other. Meg began to inch toward the poker.

  “You killed my father at her command.”

  Meg froze, and turned to stare at Sax.

  “Water under the bridge,” said the man, and turned to Meg. “Get back there and get on with it. Believe it or not, I only kill for pay. Shower me with wealth and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Did you get a bonus for the deaths of my mother and sister?”

  “Damn near got scragged. But I’d stashed away some evidence about the others. Your uncles. Unlucky lot, the earls of Saxonhurst. Mad, you know.”

  Sax stood like a statue of ice, perhaps shocked insensible by all this. But he’d known. All along, he’d known his grandmother had killed his family. And Meg had thought he was overreacting.

  “Get on with it, Countess!” The man jabbed the pistol into Sax’s head so he jerked.

  “It’s not that easy!” Meg protested.

  “Tell me what we have to do then. And be quick about it. It’d be dead easy to put a ball in my Lord Saxonhurst where it’ll cripple but not be fatal.”

  “You have to be careful what you wish for,” Meg said quickly. “Once I pick up the sheelagh, I’ll be under its power. We have to form the wish first.”

  “You make up the poxy wish, or I swear to heaven he’ll never be the same!”

  “What do you want, then? Tell me what you want!”

  “I told you. Riches!”

  “Just riches?”

  “Just riches,” he sneered. “Fine for you who’ve lived in luxury all your lives. Riches, lovey. Shower me with it. Jewels. Coins. Anything.”

  Meg looked at Sax. He was burning with icy rage. This man had killed his family, and he wanted his blood. His eyes met hers, and it was as if he spoke. Kill him for me, Meg.

  Did he believe? Or was it just a wild hope?

  If he did believe, could she risk the sheelagh’s sting for murder?

  And what would happen once he did believe, and knew she’d trapped him?

  Whatever, she burned as fiercely as he. She thought of the child, blighted by murder, of a family hounded by a vicious, possessive woman. “Careless,” he’d said earlier, of his father’s death. Of course, they’d only intended to kill his father, leaving his mother to be dragged back into the dragon’s claws.

  She wished the horrible, twisted duchess were here, too.

  Meg bent down and pulled out the bag. The power began and she wasn’t touching it yet. She almost giggled when she realized they’d used the red candles. She didn’t know if they mattered, but now two of them lit this moment.

  “Shower you with riches,” she repeated, loosening the drawstring. She glanced at Sax, trying to send a message, though she had no way of knowing whether the sheelagh could grant an instant wish. Always before it had taken time for a wish to come true.

  “Lots and lots of riches,” said the man. “Get on with it.”

  Meg sat on the chair, and drew the cloth down off the statue.

  “What is it, then?” asked the man. “Show me.”

  She turned it, keeping cloth between her hands and the stone, watching the men’s faces.

  Despite his fury, Sax laughed. “Jupiter, Meg, no wonder you’re not easily shocked!”

  Surprisingly, the murderer protested. “There ought to be a law against it! Turn it away, and get on with it.”

  Meg obeyed, and couldn’t see any excuse to delay. With a final, meaningful look at Sax, she said, “On your head be it,” and let the cloth fall. She put her hands to the cold, rough stone of the sheelagh and braced herself.

  It was worse than before.

  Worse!

  Sucked into a ravaging whirlwind, she remembered her wish, and cried it into the void. “A shower of riches on him!”

  Then, because she truly feared that this time she would die, she cried, “Keep Sax safe! Let him be happy!”

  The whirlwind smashed things, crashed things, ripped her in and out of torment. She screamed. People screamed. Everything groaned as if the whole world around her was being mangled apart.

  Christ, Meg prayed, hoping Christ and the pagan gods were not antagonists, help me! Don’t let it kill me now, not now I’ve found Sax.

  It hurt. Hurt more than before, with a tearing of muscle and a breaking of bones, and a terrible, final agony in her head. Her flesh slowly turned liquid and puddled on a bloody floor. . . .

  Christ!

  “Christ, Meg, come back to me.”

  Meg forced open leaden lids, aching in every joint and muscle, to see a white-faced Sax staring down at her. She was so sorry to be dying. Then she vomited all over him.

  When she could speak, while Sax wiped her face with a damp cloth—where had that come from?—she gasped, “Did it work?”

  “Something did,” he said in a shaken voice.

  “What happened?” He was keeping his body between her and the rest of the room, but she had a vague sense of voices. Many voices. And groans. Had the groans been real?

  “What you wished for,” he said. “A shower of riches. A huge shower of pennies that battered him to the ground. But—”

  “But?”

  “But . . . Meg, the ceiling above him gave way. I suppose there must have been a leak and the plaster rotted. Perhaps someone stashed the coins up there.”

  Meg laughed weakly. Trust the sheelagh. And it didn’t matter whether he believed or not.

  “Meg?” Astonishingly, Laura appeared, pale, wide-eyed, but looking rather excited. “Are you all right?”

  Meg struggled to sit up straighter. Was she dreaming? Was she dead? She looked around the room, lit now by a couple of lamps as well as candles, and knew she was not. There were a lot of people here, though.

  Someone—it sounded like Sax himself—was muttering, “Sax. Bad. Dragon. Bad.”

  At her look, Sax said, “Knox is here. And Brak. And your brother and sister. I’ll explain later.”

  “That man was sent to find you!” Laura exclaimed. “But I didn’t like him. I didn’t feel easy about it. I was so glad when Mr. Chancellor turned up and brought us over here. And the parrot is so clever! It knew.”

  “Lots and lots of riches,” the bird suddenly exclaimed in a passable imitation of the villain’s voice, then it emitted a scream.

  Meg shuddered, and Sax gathered her into his arms. “Don’t think about it. It’s still freezing here. Let’s get you back to Marlborough Square.”

  She was indeed shivering, though it wasn’t entirely with cold. “Yes, please. Laura, don’t forget the sheelagh.”

  He stood with her in his arms. They were both crumpled and dirty, and stinking of her vomit. She saw a couple of angry marks on his temple, showing he hadn’t entirely escaped her deadly shower.

  Safe in his arms, she looked at last at what she had done. His parents’ killer lay groaning among his wished-for wealth, guarded and tended by Sax’s servants and a snarling Brak.

  Even though she’d envisioned it, she hadn’t been sure that coins would do that much damage. Each copper penny weighed half an ounce, though, and there were a lot of them. The man’s skull was surely cracked, and he was bleeding from mouth and nose.

  She wasn’t sorry, but she looked at Sax.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for everything. Especially, for summoning me to your side.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “You believe?”

  “I’d be a clod not to, though the stone covers its tracks remarkably well. I find it fascinating.”

  Meg groaned. The impossible man was probably going to want to play with it like a scientific toy!

  “What about the duchess?” she asked as he carried her out of the room.

  “She really is dying. I think she sent him here to ki
ll me because she wanted to take me with her. I’m tempted to go and tell her she’s failed, but I’ll let God and the devil take care of creating an appropriate hell for her.”

  Meg rested her head on his shoulder and gave thanks to gods, Christian and pagan.

  Chapter 24

  The Marlborough Square house was decorated to welcome them home.

  That was Meg’s first thought as she walked over the threshold on Sax’s arm and saw that festoons of rich materials and gilded ornaments had been added to the Christmas greenery. Despite the hour, servants seemed to be everywhere, adding to the display.

  It was the sort of idiocy that could only happen in Sax’s domain.

  She was probably gaping, for he said, “The Twelfth Night ball, I suppose? Time’s short.”

  She stared at him. “That’s going on?”

  “Of course, though it’ll be a little tricky if the duchess dies between now and then. I suspect, however, that the main reason for this industry is to give everyone an excuse to be in the hall when we arrive home.”

  Meg looked around at the servants, who had all stopped work to smile at them. As Owain Chancellor had said, Sax was Sax, and his household was his household.

  She burst out laughing, and the servants gathered around to welcome them home and pelt them with questions, like family not employees. How many of them, she wondered, had Sax rescued from poverty and unemployment because they were small, or fat, or crippled, or had had an unfortunate brush with the law?

  Which had lost their excellent places in the ducal household for helping him? He wouldn’t have been able to do anything for them immediately, and she knew that must have added agony to his years in the dragon’s claws.

  He held up a hand. “I’m pleased to see you all so very devoted to your work,” he remarked, looking around at the decorations. “Has anything been done to the ballroom yet, or was it essential that you all work in the front hall?”

  “Tomorrow, milord,” someone said. “Promise.”

  “I’m sure you have it all in hand. Now, the brief summary of events you’ve been waiting for. The countess, of course, had nothing to do with the death of Sir Arthur Jakes, and the real culprit has been found. People at Sir Arthur’s house have been persuaded to tell the truth, so we can put that behind us. However, I’m sure the scandal will guarantee that anyone who is in town will want to attend our celebration, so let’s do the Torrances proud.”

  Meg felt rather sick at the thought of everyone coming to the ball, especially with her scandalous self as the attraction, and he squeezed her hand as if he knew. “Any questions?”

  “What about the people hanging around outside still, milord? The magistrate came and read the Riot Act to get rid of ’em, but some came back.”

  “And have doubtless seen what they waited to see. They’ll disperse now on such a cold night. Mr. Chancellor is having a word with the official watchers. Perhaps, out of Christian charity, someone should go and tell the duchess’s minions that the game is up. By the way, the Dowager Duchess of Daingerfield appears to have suffered a serious seizure and to be on her deathbed.”

  Meg noted that he didn’t dress it up with regrets, and she thought she heard a couple of faint cheers. It was terribly unchristian, but she understood. Some of these people had witnessed the woman’s harshness firsthand, and she wondered how many of them had shared his suspicions about the woman’s true evil.

  “Now,” he was saying, “you should all be off to your beds. I do expect normal service tomorrow. Having endured life without you, I need extra special care.”

  They all chuckled.

  “But before that, the countess and I require baths and food. Good solid food as quickly as possible.”

  At this, the servants exploded into action. Meg and Sax were swept up to their rooms. Meg found herself in the hands of Susie and another maid, who stripped her messy clothing off her, put her in a bath like a baby, washed her thoroughly, then dressed her tenderly in nightgown and robe.

  She wondered if they knew she and Sax had made love. Probably. It didn’t matter. Perhaps she was getting used to the lack of privacy, or perhaps she was too exhausted to care.

  She wanted to be with him again.

  At that moment, she wasn’t sure how she was going to endure being apart for even short periods, though common sense told her this degree of madness would pass.

  Clean and neat, with her hair loose and damp on her shoulders, she was guided into the room that held Knox’s cage. Sax was already there, addressing a tableful of food with enthusiasm, devoted parrot on his shoulder being fed with tidbits.

  “Did Knox really sound the warning?”

  “Remarkable, isn’t it? I’m sure Owain would have acted eventually, and, of course, you took care of the villain, but it was convenient to have help turn up. Sit.”

  Meg sat opposite him. He was in his gold-and-brown banjan and looked unbelievably wonderful. Food, however, looked even better, and she fell on cheese, bread, and cold meats, then upon mince pies and apple tarts, each crowned with a mound of thick cream.

  She drank the wine he’d poured for her. “I’m always gulping down food in front of you!”

  “I was gulping along with you.” He held out his glass and chinked it against hers. “Welcome home, Meg.”

  “Women. Aaaargh!”

  “No, Knox. Be nice, Say, ‘Pretty lady.” ’

  The bird shifted, glowering, but then it said, exactly in Sax’s voice, “Pretty lady.”

  Meg smiled and fed him a crust. “And I think you’re a pretty bird. And clever, too. Thank you, Knox.”

  “Thank you. Thank you.” But then the parrot turned its back.

  “He’ll come around,” Sax said.

  Meg sipped her wine, looking at him across the table.

  “You truly don’t mind me wishing you into this?”

  His smile could brighten a coal pit. “How could I mind anything so delightful? Give me your hand.”

  Brows raised a little, Meg held it out, and he slipped a ring above her wedding ring. The Saxonhurst ring that Daphne had worn.

  “Didn’t she mind?”

  “Somewhat, but I substituted another just as valuable. That is yours by right. My chosen bride.”

  She laughed softly, likely to be overwhelmed by tenderness.

  He glanced over into a corner. “Laura brought the stone and left it there. Do you mind if I look at it?”

  “No.” Meg tasted the sheelagh in her mind, and could sense it, but it was, in a way, muted by Sax, by the effect he could have on her. Perhaps it had been the same for her parents.

  He picked up the bag and pulled out the stone. Though she knew it didn’t affect others, it still startled her to see it handled so casually.

  “It really is deliciously risqué. Laura said they have them in churches in Ireland?”

  “So I’m told.”

  He touched the sheelagh’s open mouth, then her open vulva, in a stroke that caught Meg’s breath. “I have power of my own, you old witch,” he said, “and I forbid you to charge a price for what my wife did today.”

  Meg shivered. “What power?” she whispered, though she did not doubt it.

  “I have no idea. Perhaps the powers of a man who is not afraid of women. I just know she will obey.” He propped the sheelagh upon a chair. “I also don’t think she likes being hidden away. No wonder she’s become a little bitter.”

  “Rescuing statues now? Sax, you’re—”

  “Impossible. I know.” He gave her his most glorious smile. “But it’s true. She wasn’t made to be hidden.”

  “We can hardly leave her out on view!”

  “I don’t see why not. See, even Knox approves.”

  Indeed, for some strange reason the misogynistic parrot had flown off his shoulder onto the chair by the sheelagh and was exploring it with its beak as if fascinated. Exploring a rather improper place!

  Meg knew propriety would make no impression on Sax. “It’s always possible so
meone else might have the power.”

  “Ah, that’s true. But I think you should have her in your bedroom. I assume you’re not intending to invite strangers to your bedroom?”

  “Not if you don’t.”

  He laughed. “I remember my promise. I don’t think I will have any trouble keeping it.”

  “I certainly won’t. You’re likely to exhaust me!”

  His smile was his special one, his precious one. “It was good, wasn’t it, our midnight tryst? Worth suffering for?”

  Meg fussed with her dressing gown, knowing she looked foolish, but unable to help herself. “I don’t want to talk about that sort of thing.”

  “Very well,” he said amiably.

  She rolled her eyes at him, but then frowned at the sheelagh. “I can’t keep her in my room. She’d drive me mad.”

  “Mmmmm. I do want to try lovemaking with it in the bed with us.”

  “Sax!”

  “One day. But we’ll keep it in here with Knox. They seem to be becoming fast friends.”

  “Don’t ever ask me to use it again.”

  He came back to sit beside her. “Of course not. It terrified me to watch.”

  She fiddled with her wineglass. “It’s not just that. I think it killed my parents. It’s dangerous.”

  “Why? I thought you said your father was ill.”

  “Yes, but . . .” She’d hardly had time to work this out in her mind. “My mother said it shouldn’t be used lightly, but I think she did. Looking back, I can see that we lived better than we could afford, and my parents were always so carefree about things. It drove me distracted, and was part of the reason I left home. I think she was wishing anytime they needed something.”

  “And is that bad?”

  “There’s always a sting. I don’t know how it works, but there always is. Or was. I hope you’ve curbed her. Perhaps it accumulated, and caused my father’s sickness. I don’t know. But I’m sure that at the end she tried to wish death away. Sir Arthur . . . he said he’d found the sheelagh on the bed between them. And that Father had been worried she might use it.”

  “You think she wished for her own death?”

  “No! No, I don’t think she’d do that. I don’t think she’d wish to abandon the young ones.” But Meg faltered there.