I caught my breath with an audible hiss at that sentence. Maggie turned her head toward me in consternation and, mechanically, I patted her hand to reassure her.
And, of course, he will tell him that we continued after my marriage. He will cast doubt on my darling boy’s paternity. I must get away. I must make Ruan listen to me.
I folded the letter with shaking hands.
“I didn’t like him.” Maggie’s voice was distant, almost dreamy. “But from the first instant she saw him, my lady was smitten. She was visiting family close to Port Isaac and she met him when she was out walking one day. It was in the place they call Lucia’s Glade. She was so pretty. Fair and dainty, like a little flower. Mr Uther pursued her relentlessly and, although I could see what was happening, I was powerless to stop it. She was in his spell. It lasted all summer. He would crook his finger and she would go running to him. At the end of the summer, His Lordship—Lord Ruan—came home. He was so different to his brother! And he, too, fell in love with her. I told her she should forget them both—only trouble could lie ahead. But they were married and he, Mr Uther, well, he went away before the wedding. But when he returned, it was obvious he had just been biding his time.”
Briefly, I told Maggie what I had learned from Gem, and my words penetrated her placidity at last. Sad tears tracked her narrow cheeks, and I went to her. Kneeling beside her chair, I clasped her hands and she returned my touch gratefully.
“I didn’t know, but I should have suspected…my poor lady, and Lord Ruan…to be so maligned…” Her lips tightened. “But he has had a punishment of sorts. He wanted to kill my boy so that he could have the title, but I saw to it that Tynan grew to manhood. And now, time has run out for our fine Mr Uther. Even if they succeeded in killing Tynan now, he has no son to carry on the line.”
“Did you ever suspect, when he was a child, that Tynan might have inherited his father’s madness?” I asked.
“No,” she said firmly, “and nor was Lord Ruan mad! There were never any signs, and Her Ladyship would have told me if he was. That was the story they—Mr Uther and Lady Demelza—put about after he died. He was a kind, sweet man and his son is the living spit of him. No, if anyone in that family is mad, miss, it is not my dear Tynan!” I wished I could be reassured at her words, but I had seen the evidence of Tynan’s malaise with my own eyes. I decided there was no gain to be had from telling her that.
“Why did Eleanor go to see Mr Warleggan?” I asked.
“She wanted his advice. He, Mr Uther, was trying to blackmail her and she asked Mr Warleggan what she should do about it. He told her to get away from him, go back home to Kent, put as much distance as she could between them.”
When I took my leave, Maggie came to the door with me. The wind was so strong I could lean on it. My horse and I would be sadly buffeted on our return journey. “Take care of my Tynan, miss,” she said, grasping my hand tightly. “I can tell you love him as I do.”
But I didn’t love Tynan as a nurse loves a child in her care. Nor were my feelings for him akin to the violent physical pull I had once felt toward Uther. Real love was in the little details. It was the way Tynan’s eyes crinkled with mischief when he teased me, the way he threw back his head to laugh. The way he could make me smile when I thought I never would again. He was the sonnet my heart wanted to write, and the portrait my soul desired to paint.
I wondered how long I had known the truth.
He was waiting for me when I returned. I tried not to show any change in my attitude as he handed me down from the carriage. I failed miserably.
“What is it, hweg?” Tynan asked, scanning my face closely. “You look like you’ve lost a shilling and found a farthing.” Doing my best to ignore my doomed love, I pinned a bright smile to my lips and returned a light answer.
* * *
Breakfast had become our time, mine and Tynan’s, and we used it well. Sometimes that meant we did not speak at all. At other times it meant we both talked too much, our words tumbling out eagerly so that we interrupted each other, laughed, apologised and did it all over again.
As the full moon approached, there was a sadness to our early morning encounters. It was a reminder that, for Tynan, life would never be completely well. Thinking of him—my friend, my love—did something strange to me. This man who was, at times, still half boy hurt my heart a little. My sadness at his plight was a rusty saw tearing at my soul. Then he smiled and made it sing.
On this particular morning, Tynan looked pale and drawn. He ate nothing, but a tall pewter goblet sat at his right hand and he took an occasional sip from it, grimacing as he did.
“What on earth is that you are drinking?” I asked. “If it tastes as vile as it appears, why do you not throw it away and have a cup of coffee instead?”
He laughed. “Demelza, as you know, fancies herself as something of a herbalist. She makes this obnoxious concoction for me each month as the moon waxes. It is intended to soothe my disordered spirits.” He took another sip and shuddered.
A series of images, dreamlike but crystal in their clarity, came into my mind. I saw us dancing together at the ball, laughing as our exertions made us breathless. I watched as, in my mind’s eye, Tynan took the tall glass from Demelza’s outstretched hand and dashed off its entire contents. I recalled the blazing victory in Uther’s eyes as he carried Tynan’s limp body through the hushed ballroom. The puzzled note in Tynan’s voice. “But the moon is not close to full…” echoed though this quick series of memories. I saw pale, trumpet-shaped flowers that only bloomed in the glow of the moon, pollinated by the creatures of the night. I remembered stories of madness and lost memories and eyes that burned in agony when the sunlight touched them.
I jumped up from the table and snatched the goblet away from Tynan just as he was about to take another sip. “Do not drink it!” My voice was low, breathy and urgent.
He regarded me with mild astonishment. “I say, hweg, it’s not as bad as all that! Although, I have several times pointed out to Demelza that it does not one jot of good. Her response is that I would be considerably worse without it.” He stared at me. “Why, Lucy! What is it? You are shaking.”
“Do this one thing for me, Tynan.” I begged.
“One thing? I would do anything for you! Surely you know that?” It was not the right time for the sort of declaration his words heralded.
“Do not drink another drop of Demelza’s potion! Or anything else she gives you, for that matter.”
Tynan’s face told the story of his dawning understanding. “But they will be watching me,” he said when he could speak at last. “They will expect to see the familiar patterns of mania.”
He rose to his feet and we stood there, just gazing at each other as the awful reality of what we were both thinking became apparent. “You must give them that. Pretend. Follow the script they have written for you. Only you and I can know the truth.”
“My God, Lucy. I hardly dare hope you are right. But if you are, do you realise what this means?” He was the one shaking now.
I nodded. “You are not mad.”
“More than that. It means I have a future.”
* * *
I became a scholar of the moon. I raided the castle library and devoured any material that made reference to that mysterious heavenly body. Alongside scientific texts about its phases, I read moon-related myths, legends and ghost stories. One very old text contained a bookmark inside a chapter related to lunatics, a word which was derived from the Latin luna, or moon. The descriptions of aberrant behaviour could almost have been written about Uther’s vivid description of Tynan’s madness. I turned the embroidered bookmark over in my hand. The word Demelza had been stitched into it in flowing script, surrounded by artfully crafted pansies and roses.
Tynan could not fight Uther and Demelza. Thwarted by Maggie Scadden’s tenacity, they, the people who proclaimed their protection of him, had been unable to murder him while he was still an infant. Instead they had carefully painted a p
icture of him as a tortured soul engulfed in madness. Who would believe Tynan? There was no one to speak up for him, no one to fight his corner.
“Unless, of course, you had a wife,” I told him as we sat on our favourite rose-garden bench, discussing the matter in quiet whispers. He had played his part well, and his aunt and uncle appeared to have no suspicion that his debilitating headaches of the last few days had been feigned.
“Who knows?” he said with that self-mocking little twist to his lips. “I may meet the woman of my dreams tonight, while I am out howling at the moon.”
“Be sensible,” I said sternly, and he grinned.
“How can I? When Uther has worked so hard to convince me that sensible is the one thing I am not?”
“Don’t you see? Once you are twenty-one, if you were married, your wife would be your advocate. Uther would have no power over you. Even if he tried to have you declared insane, your wife could refute those claims.”
“So all I need to do now is find a suitable woman, convince her that I am not mad, woo her desperately and get her up the aisle before my twenty-first birthday. A bit of a tall order, but I still have two weeks in which to accomplish it.” His hand raked his hair in a familiar gesture of frustration.
I remained silent, my eyes fixed on his face. Wonder began to dawn in his own eyes as he studied my expression. A question began to form on his lips, but before he could speak it, the words burst from me in a rush. “They want me to marry you. It has been their plan all along, the only reason Demelza brought me here.” I told him everything, the plan to marry us and get a Jago heir before having him declared insane. I stopped short of relating Uther’s suggestion that Tynan would be persuaded—or forced—to kill himself. I could not speak those words aloud. “Until now, I have refused to submit to their outrageous wishes. But, if you would have me, this could be your way out of here.”
“If I would have you?” The words seemed to freeze in his throat. “Yes, I will have you, but…you would really do this, Lucy? For me? You would make this sacrifice?”
I took his face between my hands. “I will do this, Tynan, for you, but also for myself. And know this, my dearest, it is not out of sacrifice.”
“I…” The emotion in his eyes rendered him unable to finish. My breath caught in my throat.
I leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it,” I whispered. “Not yet. Not here. Let us leave this place, get away from the madness that pervades its walls and then, my love, there will be all the time in the world for us to draw our memories onto the blank canvas of a new life.”
* * *
The moon was full and Tynan was once more chained in his room. My heart ached that I could not go to him, but I knew a fierce pride when I heard how well he was playing his part. Grim-lipped, Uther described the convulsions that racked his body and the violent rage that consumed him.
Demelza’s eyes were shadowed as she spoke. “It appears he is worse than ever this month. I hardly dare ask you again, Lucy. You have made your repugnance toward the suggestion abundantly plain. But our only chance to save our name is fading fast….”
“Very well,” I said quietly. “I will do it. I will marry Tynan.”
Uther, who had been reading the newspaper shot a sideways glance at me, but said nothing. He met Demelza’s eyes. Triumph blossomed blood-like and brief between them before he drew dark, enigmatic shutters closed once more.
When Demelza had gone, he rose from his seat and stood over me. Wordlessly, he held out his hands and, playing my part, I placed my fingertips in them. He drew me to my feet. The unnerving sensation that his eyes could bore into my mind, my very soul, assailed me once more.
“Why?” he said simply.
“Because you wish it,” I replied simply, raising worshipful eyes to him. His features hardened, and my heart gave an uncomfortable thud. I had to make him believe I was still his devoted acolyte. Tynan’s life, and my own, depended now upon my ability to play this loathsome part.
“And now the truth, please, Lucy.” His tone was cold.
I moved closer so that we were almost, but not quite, touching. “I am yours, Uther, I belong to you. I have no other will than yours.” As his hands moved to circle my waist, I laughed. “And you were right, of course. I have no desire to pass my days in servitude to anyone other than you.”
As his mouth swooped down on mine, I forced my body to cleave sinuously to the contours of his. Uther’s low, masculine purr of possession informed me that my acting skills had, on this occasion, passed the test.
* * *
I made ready for the last night I would spend in my maiden’s bed. When I closed the curtains, a lopsided, waning moon smiled down at me. Whether it was benevolent or mocking would remain to be seen. Sleep was not to be mine that night. Joy is not less restless than sorrow, and both emotions surged through me: joy, that amid this darkness I had found the richness of true love; sorrow, that Tynan and I were alone, that those who loved us were gone. Before we could be happy, we had to face a harsh world and a formidable enemy. Underlying these conflicting emotions was a constant ripple of fear. Until now Uther had been one step ahead of us. He could never suspect how far I had unbound my soul from the force of his love. I believed I had succeeding in playing the role of his smitten puppet well. If I was wrong, the consequences would be without mercy.
Morning burned the mist of my sleepless night away. My wedding day dawned. The most important event in a woman’s life. The day her mother, if she has one, prepares her for from the moment of her birth. How different was this day for me! Soon I would exchange promises to love and to hold with the man I adored. But I would do so whilst in fear for both our lives.
Miss Clatterthorpe’s skilled fingers had fashioned my simple gown of silk and lace. There had been no time—and on my part, no inclination—for anything grander. I carried white roses bound up with ribbons, and several of the exquisite blooms nestled in my hair, holding in place the delicate veil that covered my face.
For Tynan this day was doubly memorable. It was his twenty-first birthday.
I had told Tynan all about my passionate encounters with Uther. I did not want there to be secrets between us as there had between his parents. As I stammered out the words, my cheeks aflame, he drew me close into his embrace and held me there for long minutes. Eventually, he pressed warm lips to my temple and said quietly, “Poor Lucy.” And without further words, we were agreed that it would never be mentioned again. The past slid quietly away. We had both, after all, in very different ways been pawns in the dangerous, masterful hands of Uther Jago. I had allowed myself to be manipulated by him. I had enjoyed it! I quaked inside to recall how much, but my body had been thirsty and he, knowing it, had quenched that thirst.
We planned our escape in great detail. “They will not expect us to leave during our wedding night,” I pointed out.
“No, they will believe us to be otherwise engaged,” Tynan agreed with a wry, sideways glance at me. He caught my hand and pressed a burning kiss into my palm. “Whenever I wake from a dream of touching your face, my desolate bed becomes even lonelier. I cannot wait to call you mine in truth, Lucy-love.”
I teased him. “Strive for a little patience, my poet. It will be worth the wait.”
He groaned aloud and drew me into his arms. Pausing with his mouth just an inch above mine, his voice was hesitant as he asked, “May I kiss you?” My heart gave a sad little jerk, remembering other kisses. Assured, ungentle caresses that asked no permission. I nodded as my eyelids fluttered closed. Tynan’s lips were soft and shy against mine, and I gave myself up to him. Our mouths opened, moving together in natural, timeless rhythm. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart, taste the freshness of his mouth. I reached up and tangled my hands in the fine silk of his hair. My own heart was buffeted wildly on a wave of surging sensation. I confess I had been scared of what this moment would bring. Part of me wondered would I forever compare Tynan to Uther and find him lacking? Or p
erhaps Uther’s presence would stay with me, dark and brooding, reminding me of all that we had shared? But I was wrong! My spirits soared like a young bird in flight, free at last from the restraints Uther Jago had placed on me.
We broke apart, both of us trembling. Tynan rested his cheek against the top of my head. “My first kiss,” he said with a shaky little laugh.
“Mine, too,” I replied. “Well, the first that was true.” We stood very still, breathing each other in. Everything that had gone before had led me to this. The clock only moves forward. I knew that Tynan’s would be the lips I would want from this moment until the end of forever. It could only be possible to feel this way once in a lifetime.
“Well, now we’ve dispensed with that little formality and found that we quite like it, perhaps we should get some more practice in?”
I held him off with my hands against his chest. “We have important plans to make, sir,” I reminded him mockingly.
“That’s exactly what I was doing!” he protested, but he tucked my arm through his and we strolled into the rose garden.
To organise carriage or horses would be to alert the servants to our plans. It was a short step from the servants to Demelza, and an even shorter one from her to Uther. So the Earl and Countess of Athal must steal away like a couple of thieves and, overnight, trudge the long road to Wadebridge. From there we would take the train to Bodmin and onward. Our goal was London. Once there, we could begin the long legal fight that would be necessary to claim Tynan’s rightful inheritance. I wanted Uther and Demelza brought to justice for their infamous deeds, but Tynan was not yet convinced on that score. The Jago name must be protected for our children, he argued. We decided to leave that conversation for another, safer time.
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