The Earl of Graymar’s angry, formidable face appeared, and, markedly different from all the other times when he’d caused trouble, Kian was incredibly glad to see it. “Malachi,” he murmured, and with an overwhelming sense of relief knew that all would be well. Lord Graymar was the most powerful wizard in Europe; he would make everything right. “Don’t speak,” the earl commanded tautly, obliged to raise his voice over the frantic chaos. “I’m not in the mood to hear your excuses, you foolish, idiotic boy. Why must you always act without first taking a moment to think?” With an expression of annoyance he lifted his head and said, loudly, “Silence!”
All sound stopped at once, and every occupant of the tavern fell still, staring at Lord Graymar.
“Much better,” said the earl. “You may all proceed, but quietly. Dyfed, find the keeper of this unsavory establishment and bring him to me. And do something about that weeping girl.”
Weeping girl. Kian could hear her. Feel her, just as strongly as he’d felt her these many weeks.
“Loris,” he said, straining his neck to find her. “Loris.”
“Is that her name?” Malachi was kneeling beside Kian now. “Dyfed has her well in hand.”
“She must come with us,” Kian managed against the hot pain in his shoulder. “Malachi, listen to me—” He pushed away his cousin’s hands as they sought to pull back his jacket. “Loris. The girl. You must bring her. She is my unoliaeth. My oneness. You told me I should find her one day, and I have. Even here, in this strange place.” He suddenly found it difficult to draw in breath. “My … unoliaeth. Do you hear me, Malachi?”
“I hear you, but I don’t believe you. You’re delirious. Now be still.” Lifting his head, Lord Graymar addressed someone standing nearby. “Are you the proprietor? Bring me clean towels and fresh water and have the goodness thereafter to fetch the night watch to deal with Mr. Foss and his companions.”
Darkness threatened to overwhelm Kian, but he was too stubborn to give way. Reaching up, he took hold of Malachi’s coat and shook it with what little strength remained, insisting, “She’s mine! Just as you told me. It was for her that I came. Don’t leave her behind. Swear to me.” He shook Malachi once more before his hand fell away, slack. “Swear it.” His eyes began to drift shut of their own accord.
“I give you my oath that she will come away with us,” his cousin vowed. “Now be still, Kian, and be quiet. I’ll take care of everything.”
Aye, Kian thought dimly as the blackness overtook him. Malachi would take care of everything. Loris would be safe, and all would be well.
When Kian woke, it was to find himself in his own bed, his aching shoulder packed with what smelled like one of his cousin’s remedies and securely wrapped in linen.
A fire glowed in the hearth, giving but little light to the dark, quiet room, but enough so that Kian could make out the tall figure standing before it. The blond hair, shorter than Kian’s but nearly the same light shade as his own, gleamed in the firelight. Oddly, it had come undone and hung loosely about Malachi’s shoulders. Kian had never seen it like that before, for his cousin tended to be temperamental about his appearance. Events at the Red Fox must have been rather trying to make the Earl of Graymar forget his usual perfection.
“How are you feeling?” Lord Graymar asked quietly. He was gazing into the fire, his back turned to Kian, but the earl scarcely needed to see a person to know whether he was sleeping or awake. Malachi Seymour wasn’t merely a powerful wizard; he was the Dewin Mawr, or Great Sorcerer, whom the vast majority of magical beings in England gave their allegiance to. He was possessed of senses and gifts that even Kian, who at his birth had been foretold as the future Dewin Mawr, couldn’t entirely understand.
“The wound has been cleaned and treated,” the earl continued quietly. “I’ve given you something for the pain, but I fear you’ll have a difficult night. Or day, rather, as the sun is shortly due to make its appearance.”
Kian didn’t doubt that, or that he’d be in far worse condition if his cousin weren’t also a gifted healer.
“Where’s Loris?”
“She’s here,” Malachi replied. “She’s sleeping. The recent events have been rather exhausting for her, poor girl. Your father and brother have assured her that she’s to come to Tylluan and live there, safe from the Goodbodys. Your father was especially delighted, and she seemed relieved to be in his care. Ffinian may not be much of a wizard, but he certainly possesses a welcome gift for handling females.”
“I knew he would love her at once, just as I do.” Kian attempted to rise up on his good arm but quickly gave up the effort when it proved impossible without a great deal of pain. “Is she not the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, Malachi?” he asked, smiling despite his discomfort and weariness. “She’s perfect. Beautiful and intelligent and … I never realized what it would be like to find her. My unoliaeth,” he said happily. “My oneness. It’s like nothing I’ve felt before. I’ve only known Loris for a few weeks, but I love her as dearly as if we’ve always been together. All of my happiness is dependent on her now. Nothing will ever mean more to me than she does.”
“Aye, that is how a unoliaeth is, or so I’ve been given to understand,” Malachi murmured, sounding strangely melancholy to Kian’s ears. “She was destined for you, and you for her, as it was foretold at your birth. Neither can know true happiness or fulfillment apart from the other.”
“She must be frightened by us,” Kian said thoughtfully. “Did you explain to her? About the unoliaeth? About our kind? I had hoped to tell her in a far different manner, but everything went wrong. She’ll be one of our sympathetics, of course, even if the idea of magic is strange to her at first. But her heart will reveal the truth to her, just as mine has to me.”
Malachi was silent, making no reply. He was angry, Kian knew, and rightfully so. The wild Tylluan Seymours had wreaked their usual havoc. Or, rather, one wild Tylluan Seymour had.
“I know it won’t do any good to tell you I’m sorry about what happened at the Red Fox,” Kian offered contritely, “but upon my honor I vow that my only aim last night was to bring Loris out of the place. I had finally accepted the truth of who she was, and had decided to tell her and convince her to come away with me. Everything else that occurred with Foss and his men was completely unexpected, and I—”
“Foss is dead.”
The words staggered Kian into silence. Foss was dead?
“His neck was broken when he struck the wall,” Malachi went on. “If I hadn’t been so distracted I would have felt the change when his soul departed. You have progressed far enough in your powers that I believe you would have noted it, too, though you were certainly in no condition to do so.”
Lord Graymar turned from the fire and slowly approached the bed.
“He’s dead?” Kian whispered. “I killed him?” His senses reeled at the knowledge.
“You acted in defense of your life,” Malachi told him firmly, “and no man will lay blame for that at your door. There were witnesses who have already attested that Foss was the attacker. If they are not entirely able to remember how you managed to send Foss and some of his men into the wall, that isn’t surprising. There was a great commotion at the time, and memories can so easily be blurred.”
Kian understood what his cousin was telling him. Malachi had taken care of everything, just as he had promised, and all those who’d been present would remember only those facts that the Earl of Graymar wanted them to remember. But that was little comfort in the face of Foss’s death.
“I killed a man,” Kian murmured, filled with dismay. “And I used magic to do it.” His voice shook slightly as realization took full hold. “I’m going to be cursed, aren’t I? Or already have been. By the Guardians. Blood cursed. Isn’t that so, Malachi?”
Slowly and carefully, Lord Graymar sat on the bed beside him.
“There are some who would argue, and I among them, that you did the world a great favor by ridding it of a man like Foss. He wa
s a flesh peddler of the worst sort. A foul and evil murderer who had already taken a number of innocent lives and would have taken many more had he lived longer.” He paused before going on. “Unfortunately, though we live in the world of mere mortals, we are not solely beneath their rule. If that were the case, Foss’s death would be forgiven and you would escape punishment. But the Guardians who judge our kind tend to view such matters in a far different manner.”
A shudder ran the length of Kian’s body. “I didn’t mean to kill him. And it was but a small measure of magic. A child’s magic.”
“Of a certainty it was,” Malachi agreed. “Especially for a sorcerer possessed of your considerable powers. But that doesn’t pardon what you did. You were arrogant and impatient, and took matters into your own hands when you should have sought the counsel and aid of someone older and wiser. More than that you used magic for your own gain. Mere mortals could not realize that but the Guardians would, and did. There is no one else to blame. You knew the risk you were taking.”
“Yes.” Kian closed his eyes tightly. “I knew.” He drew in a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come. A blood curse was the worst fate that could befall one of their kind, but nothing could stop one being placed once the Guardians had made their decision. It would be far better to face his punishment and immediately seek the remedy. There was always a way to break such a curse, if the cursed one could but discover what that way was.
Opening his eyes, he turned his head to gaze directly into Lord Graymar’s dimly lit face. Kian had never seen his cousin looking so grim.
“Your youth might have softened the Guardians’ judgment,” Malachi said. “But this is far from the first purposeful misstep you’ve made, and the forbearance they have acted with before now has gone.”
“What is it then?” Kian asked. “Am I to go blind or deaf or be made speechless? Will my powers be taken from me, or in some way be lessened? Shall I be disfigured, made bald and hideous so that no one can gaze upon me without a sense of horror? The Guardians did that to Uncle Meurig after he shot that fellow in Hyde Park.”
“Uncle Meurig was insufferably vain,” the earl said. “The man he wounded pricked that vanity with a silly insult and Meurig reacted foolishly. He deserved his punishment and learned a great deal about humility before the curse was lifted and his beauty restored. But although I understand that women both young and old tend to swoon upon setting sight on you and your brother, neither of you is particularly vain. As to your powers, they must necessarily remain and continue to increase, for prophecy, unlike judgment, cannot be altered. One day, whether you find a way to lift the curse or not, you will take my place as Dewin Mawr.”
Kian began to relax a little. If none of those things that he had most dreaded weren’t to be his punishment, perhaps the curse wouldn’t be so daunting.
“Tell me, please, Malachi,” he said.
The Earl of Graymar rose from the bed and moved back toward the fire. He contemplated the flames for a long moment before turning back, his tall, elegant figure illumined by the flickering light, to face Kian.
“Have you not already thought of what it must be?” Malachi murmured solemnly. “A blood curse almost always strikes at the heart. What is dearest to you, Kian? Or, rather, who is dearest to you?”
Weeks ago the question would have taken some thought for him to answer, for Kian would have to choose between his father and brother. But now the answer was immediate.
Loris.
For a moment Kian forgot how to breathe. When he finally did draw in air, it came as a desperate gasp. He began to shake his head, but Malachi only continued to gaze at him.
“They can’t curse her,” Kian said at last. “She’s not one of us. And they can’t take her away from me because our union was destined. Prophecy—you only just said it—prophecy cannot be altered.”
“It cannot and will not be,” Malachi told him. “Loris will remain your oneness, and you hers, and both will never find true happiness apart from each other, but the unoliaeth will not affect her as powerfully as it already does you. She will not even believe in its existence, unless you can find the way to convince her of it. But more than that, from this moment your touch will only give Loris pain, Kian, not pleasure. The Guardians have made it thus. You are cursed to need her as deeply and passionately as you now do, and that need will drive you to be close to her. But your touch will be as a stinging fire to Loris. She may desire you, she may even come to love you, but she’ll not be able to endure the pain of your embrace.”
“No,” Kian said hotly, throwing off the covers with his uninjured arm. With a grimace of pain, he forced himself into a sitting position. “I’ll speak to the Guardians. Plead with them. Make them change it. I’ll accept any other punishment they like. Anything but this.”
“Lie down,” Malachi ordered sharply, “before you open the wound again.”
Kian, unlike Dyfed, had a reputation for being difficult and disobedient and for ignoring orders unless he wished to comply. With one exception. He had never disobeyed the Dewin Mawr. Until now.
Looking very directly at His Lordship, Kian said, “Take me into the spirit realm,” and, wincing again, he bent to pick up one of his boots.
He expected Malachi to rail at him, but to his great surprise, his powerful cousin only looked mildly relieved.
“It may be an unfortunate moment for your manhood to assert itself,” Malachi said, moving forward, “but the timing couldn’t be more propitious.”
If Kian did possess any vanity, it was in the knowledge that he was, like the Dewin Mawr, an extraordinary wizard. Kian’s powers sometimes astonished even himself, and those powers would increase as he aged, but despite that, somehow, Malachi managed to get him back into the bed, lying down and tightly covered, before Kian even knew what had happened.
“I’m deeply sorry for you, my cousin,” Malachi said with all sincerity. “But it is a blood curse, and cannot be changed. There’s no sense in doing anything but accepting the truth of that.”
“I can fight it,” Kian said wrathfully. “I can find the remedy, and that is exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Aye, you can and must fight it,” Malachi agreed. “And I vow that I’ll do everything possible to help you. But for now you must be calm and force yourself to think very clearly. You must prepare for what is to come, and determine that, regardless of what Loris may say or do, you will be patient.”
“I love her,” Kian said. “I would never hurt her, for any cause.”
Lord Graymar sighed and gave a shake of his head. “I pray that it will be so, cfender, but I fear the truth is that you have a great deal to learn about love and pain. I do not envy you this journey. I can only hope that it is brief, and that both you and Loris survive it unbroken.”
Castle Tylluan, Wales, three years later
The visits began shortly after Loris’s sixteenth birthday. On that first night, she had come awake to find a stranger standing beside her bed, gazing down at her and speaking her name. It had been such a dim, unreal moment that at first Loris thought herself dreaming. But he had been real enough. When he’d lowered himself to sit beside her on the mattress, Loris had opened her mouth to scream. His hand had pressed over her lips, not hard, but enough to stop the sound.
“Shhh,” he said, his voice low, gentle. “I’ve not come to harm you. There’s no need to call for help.”
He’d released her, and Loris had scrambled away to the far side of the bed.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice shaking badly. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the balcony doors,” he said, nodding toward the doors. They had been locked before she’d gone to bed but now stood open, swinging gently in the night’s cool breeze.
“The balcony doors?” she repeated in disbelief, gripping the blankets and pulling them up to her chin. “That’s impossible, unless you’re a wizard. Are you?”
“I can’t tell you,” he replied. “But I’
m not here to harm you, Loris.”
He was a complete stranger to her, tall and muscular, with long black hair that fell to his shoulders and black eyes that gazed at Loris with disturbing intensity. He was very handsome, though not in any refined or elegant manner, as Kian and Dyfed were, but rugged and fully masculine. She wondered for a fleeting moment if he was a gypsy or pirate, then discarded the notion almost at once. His simple clothes bespoke the faerie folk who lived near Tylluan.
She stumbled out of the bed, taking the covers with her. “You’d better go,” she told him, her knees wobbling. “A powerful wizard lives in this castle. An extraordinary wizard, and he’s but three doors away. I don’t care how powerful you may be. You won’t be able to stand against him.”
“Do you mean Kian Seymour?” he asked, standing and slowly moving around the bed toward her. “Would you truly call him to come to your aid? I thought you hated the very sight of him.”
“What I feel doesn’t matter,” she said, backing away as he advanced. “And I’m not going to discuss such things with you. Kian will come if I call, and he’ll deal with you.” She pointed a shaking finger at the balcony doors. “Now go, or I’ll scream. I mean what I say.”
“Please don’t scream,” he said. “I promise you there’s no need. I’ll sit here, by the fire.” He waved a hand toward one of the two chairs set before the glowing flames. “And if you’ll only speak with me for a few minutes, I’ll leave.”
He sat while Loris stayed on the other side of the room, protecting herself with the blankets and feeling unutterably foolish. She should scream for Kian. She knew she should. But the stranger was sitting there, smiling at her in a beguiling manner, and, somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to do what was wise.
“Who are you?” she asked again. “Why have you come here? I have nothing of value to give you.”
“But you do,” he said. “The most valuable thing possible. Your time. Your smile. The sound of your voice.”
“What?” she asked, bewildered by his words. “I don’t understand.” No one wanted such simple things from her. Not without something more. Ffinian wanted her to run his household, and Dyfed wanted her to make his life easy so that he might spend his days reading and hunting. Kian wanted her heart, which she couldn’t seem to give him even in those moments when she wished she might.
Touch of Passion Page 4
