With a sigh she pushed his hand away and stood, pulling her dressing gown more tightly about her waist and stepping around Liw’s kneeling form.
“You should go,” she said. “And never come back.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t rise to his feet. Didn’t even look at her. Loris bit her lip and turned away, toward the fire, and prayed that she wouldn’t start crying.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked in a low voice.
She didn’t answer. Silence stretched out for a long moment, and then she heard him rising to his feet. His hands, warm and strong, fell upon her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. Searching her face, he asked once more, “Do you want me to go, Loris?”
“I want to know who you are, Liw. Who you truly are.”
He lowered his head and softly kissed her lips, a brief and tender caress. “In your heart, you already know who I am,” he murmured.
Loris shook her head in denial, but he kissed her again, more deeply, and she felt once more the lightness between them. It was so very like what she fleetingly felt with Kian before their embraces came to an end, not as powerful or compelling, but similar enough to be a shadow. She pressed closer to the solid warmth of his body, sliding her arms up about his neck.
When it ended they were quiet again, holding each other, swaying slightly back and forth. His cheek was pressed against the top of her head, and she could feel his breath against her hair.
“Won’t you tell me something about yourself?” she whispered. “Please.”
He pulled away to look into her eyes and stroked the hair back from her face.
“I am one who wants to be near you always, Loris, just as I have always been,” he said softly. “I will never harm or dishonor you. I want to come to you freely, without fear, without shame, and give you pleasure and respite. I want to go on being the one you tell your secrets to, your dreams, all of the things that you can tell no one else. I want to hear of your days and be part of your nights, to hold and touch you, to be touched by you in turn. I want to hear your voice and carry the memory of it away with me until I’m with you once more.” He kissed her again, slowly, deeply. “This is who I am, Loris.” His hand cradled her face. “Is it enough?”
“Yes, Liw,” she whispered, drawing him back down to her. “It’s enough.”
Chapter One
Northern Wales, 1821
“They’re all dead, my lord,” Horas said, standing up from the body he’d been inspecting and looking at the field strewn with others. “Some half-eaten. Some just killed for sport. But either way, they’re all dead.”
Kian surveyed the sight before him in silence, his gaze moving from one mutilated sheep to the next. He’d spent the five previous mornings surveying the exact same scene, save with varying players. Sheep were the main victims, but there had been cattle and goats and pigs as well. All had been his tenants’ livestock, and all the attacks had occurred on his lands.
Something evil had come to Tylluan.
“Are there no prints again, Horas?”
“No, m’lord. None that I can find. There might be some under all the water, though. Kind of hard to tell.”
“Damnation,” Kian muttered. It was always the same. There was never any sign of who or what the predator was—no prints, either human or animal, no tufts of fur—yet there was always a tremendous amount of water muddying the field where the destruction had taken place. It was as if rain had fallen heavily in only one place, leaving behind a watery swamp littered with dead carcasses.
“I’m sorry, Allan,” he said to the tenant, who stood beside him. “Is it the entire flock, then?”
“Aye, m’lord,” said Allan. Behind him, a group of his fellow tenants murmured and nodded and cast glances at their new lord. Kian felt their appraisals keenly, knowing full well what they were thinking. He had only been master of Tylluan for seven months, and scarce a week had gone by that some misfortune or other hadn’t befallen either someone or something on the vast estate. Illness, injury, fire, dry wells, inexplicable destruction—just when Kian thought he had everything under control, something else occurred to get Tylluan’s inhabitants into an uproar.
His tenants were beginning to whisper that Tylluan had been cursed, and Kian was starting to wonder precisely the same thing. Unfortunately, they were also starting to wonder whether Kian was capable of being a true lord to them, protecting them and their children, their homes and livestock. His father, the previous baron, had managed well enough, though in a somewhat uninvolved manner. Whenever trouble occurred, Ffinian Seymour was content to call upon the Dewin Mawr, rather than tend to the matter himself. Lord Graymar had always come, if not entirely happily, and fixed the problem, which both the tenants and Kian’s father had found very welcome. The Dewin Mawr worked quickly and powerfully; even the most tenacious spirits had been readily vanquished with ease.
When Kian had taken Ffinian’s place as baron at Tylluan, however, he had vowed that he would only call upon his cousin in the direst need and only if Kian himself couldn’t find the solution first. This was partly due to pride, he knew, because he was, like Malachi, an extraordinary wizard and ought to be powerful enough to handle difficult problems. But more than that, Kian felt the need to prove himself. If he couldn’t manage a single estate like Tylluan with some semblance of success, he’d certainly never be able to oversee all the magical Families who gave the Dewin Mawr their allegiance.
At the moment, he’d simply like to gain the allegiance of his tenants. They were not all of magical descent, but they were all, from generations past, sympathetic to those who were and understood the responsibilities that came with giving their loyalty to a lord possessed of great powers. The people of Tylluan, like many Welsh, kept the mysteries of magic secret from the outside world. In return, however, they rightfully expected some manner of recompense. Especially in the way of safety and security.
“Might’ve been something wild,” Horas said contemplatively, rubbing his chin. “Boars, maybe. Or wolves.”
Kian appreciated his steward’s loyal attempt to find a more normal solution to the problem, but after spending six mornings looking at fields of dead animals, they were well beyond pretending.
“Something wild, aye,” Kian agreed. “But it wasn’t any creature known to mortal men.”
His tenants murmured quietly in agreement.
Horas glanced at Kian and gave a single nod. “Is it Cadmaran, then, do you think?”
The question was asked so casually that anyone who didn’t know the history between the Cadmaran and Seymour families might not understand the meaning behind it. But that wasn’t the case with all those who were present. They fell silent and waited to hear whether Kian would make a public declaration of his belief in his distant neighbor’s guilt.
Morcar Cadmaran, the Earl of Llew, was, like Lord Graymar, both an extraordinary wizard and the powerful head of an ancient magical family. Unlike Lord Graymar, Cadmaran practiced dark magic. Evil magic. Magic like the kind that had caused the mayhem and death strewn out on the field before Kian. It wouldn’t be the first time that a Cadmaran had visited such destruction on a Seymour.
The two families had been at odds for centuries, contending over which should wield the greater authority over the other magical clans. Thus far the Seymours had maintained the place of most power, but only, the Cadmarans claimed, by cheating at every given opportunity. The charge had enraged past generations of Seymours, who found it to be entirely unjust, and a mutual enmity had been birthed between the two families. There had been arguments, volatile encounters, even battles fought over which family had suffered the greater insult. In time, the Seymours had simply begun to ignore the ridiculous feud, but the Cadmarans found it impossible to set aside. Indeed, the current Earl of Llew seemed determined to carry on the unpleasantness at all costs.
Morcar Cadmaran believed that the Seymours had done everything possible to ruin him. They had even denied him the woman whom he had chosen for his wife,
Ceridwen Seymour, a gifted sorceress with whom Morcar believed he would be able to produce wildly powerful offspring. He had been thwarted in his attempts to secure her hand by Malachi, who had allowed her to marry the man of her choice, a mere mortal. It had been the final straw in what the Earl of Llew saw as an endless string of misdeeds. He wanted to topple the Seymours from their place of power; and the best way to do that was to destroy their head, the Earl of Graymar.
There was only one acceptable way among their kind to bring down one who had been recognized as the Dewin Mawr, and that was through a duel of powers, properly challenged and properly accepted, according to the rules laid down ages past by the Guardians. But Morcar hadn’t been able to force such a duel, because Malachi continuously found ways to avoid meeting him face-to-face, a fact the Earl of Llew found endlessly frustrating. Yet he determinedly kept trying to lure Malachi out into the open. The troubles that had been plaguing Tylluan of late were, Kian believed, evidence of such efforts. Cadmaran knew that if Kian couldn’t find a way to stop the attacks on his lands, he would eventually have to send for the Dewin Mawr’s aid. And then the Earl of Graymar would be in North Wales and that much closer to the Earl of Llew’s lair.
Unfortunately, Kian had no proof that Cadmaran was behind the attacks, and he wasn’t going to make his suspicions public. Such an open assertion of blame was, among their kind, akin to a declaration of war. He would have to tread carefully until he knew better what was going on and whether Lord Llew was truly involved.
In the meantime, Kian had to pacify his tenants’ desire for action.
“What I think,” he said clearly, “is that someone from Tylluan should visit Fynnon Elian as soon as possible to see whether a curse has been set upon us and, if so, pay the fine to have it lifted.”
This suggestion met with loud approval among those present, for they were, like most Welsh, deeply superstitious. It had likely crossed their minds before now that some evildoer had gone to Elian’s Well and thrown a curse into the water, bringing all this misery upon them. Although Kian certainly didn’t deny that such curses were true, he didn’t believe for a moment that paying the well keeper a few coins to lift a curse would solve the troubles at Tylluan. But it would buy him a little time and soothe his tenants for a few days.
“I should be glad to go, m’lord,” Allan offered, nodding toward the field. “Once this has been cleared and the carcasses burned.”
“Aye, and me with him,” said another, followed by a chorus of volunteers.
“It is good of each of you to offer,” Kian told them, “but I shall ask my brother to go.” He understood what it would mean to the people of Tylluan to have someone so close to their baron perform the task. “Dyfed will leave tomorrow morning and, God willing, be home before the week is out. Let us all pray God that whatever has been bedeviling us will be gone by then.”
“Not those, Elen.” Loris waved a hand to keep the girl from picking any more thyme. “We’ve enough for tonight’s stew and I want to save plenty for drying. What a glorious day this is.” A crisp, cool breeze caressed her cheek and she lifted her head to smile at the white clouds above. “I can scarce remember a spring here with so little rain and so much sun.”
“The rain will come, miss,” the younger girl said gloomily. “It always does. And the fog with it.”
“Aye, that they will, praise be to God,” Loris agreed. “We’d be in sore misery if it were not so, especially here on Tylluan’s high hill. Look, Elen.” Standing, Loris strode nearer to the edge of the garden, where a sheer drop gave way to the valley below. “I never weary of seeing it, do you?” She glanced back at the girl, who trudged unhappily over to join her, dragging her mostly empty basket along as if it were a great burden.
“It’s the same as it was yesterday,” Elen replied, “and the day before that and the day before that. Nothing ever changes here.”
“No,” Loris murmured with pleasure. “I pray it never will.”
It had been ten years since Ffinian Seymour had taken her into his heart as an adopted daughter and brought her to live at Tylluan. Ten glorious years out of London’s dark alleys and filthy dens. And all of them spent here, in this wild and beautiful land. There had been a great deal of work for her to do in the beginning, for the castle had been in a disastrous condition and Ffinian and his sons and their men were given to living like animals, but Loris had gladly applied herself to the challenge of putting everything and everyone into order. And somehow, in the process, Tylluan had become her home. Her own beloved home, made clean and comfortable and lovely by her own hand. She was safe here, and happy as she had never dreamed she might be.
“I know you can’t see Tylluan as I do, Elen,” she told the girl. “You’ve never known anything else. But you’re very young, yet, and might one day have the chance to see something more of England. And then, perhaps, you’ll realize just how beautiful Tylluan is by comparison.”
Elen sighed aloud. “I hope so, miss,” she said. “There must be so many wonderful things in other places. Shops and carriages and beautiful things. And something exciting to do once in a while. Nothing ever happens here.” She sighed again. “Nothing good, anywise.”
“We did, too, have something good happen,” Loris reminded her. “And only a few months past. Can you have forgotten the wedding so soon?”
“That’s true, miss,” Elen agreed unhappily. “But that wasn’t really a good happening, was it? I never thought the baron would leave us, just because he wanted to take a wife.”
“It was a difficult change,” Loris agreed sympathetically, remembering the sadness among the people of Tylluan when Ffinian, who had been their beloved lord for so many years, stepped down from the title. “But it was good, whether you realize it or not, and it certainly wasn’t unexpected. The title has always belonged to Master Kian. He inherited it from his mother at her death. Master Ffinian was merely running the estate until the time came for the current baron to take his rightful place.”
Elen shook her head and set the basket in her arm on her hip. “I miss the old baron, though. Why couldn’t he have married Lady Alice and stayed at Tylluan? She could’ve come here and been his baroness.”
“Lady Alice’s estate is almost as large as Tylluan,” Loris said. “It needs someone to look after it, and now that she and Master Ffinian have wed, she’ll have a very capable husband to lend her his aid.”
“But they’re not even at Glen Aur,” Elen countered.
“Well, no, not at the present time,” Loris said. “But once their honeymoon is over they’ll return to Glen Aur and very likely remain there much of each year, as Lady Alice was given to doing before she married Master Ffinian. And just as soon as they return from the Continent I’m certain they’ll come to visit us. The former baron could never stay away from Tylluan for long. He loves it as much as the new baron does.” Loris hoped that would be so, for she missed Ffinian terribly. Tylluan seemed empty without his loud, booming voice and raucous laughter. And meals were almost dull without his outrageous storytelling and jests.
Elen made a sound of disbelief and said, “I hope Master Ffinian returns soon. He’ll put everything to right in a shake, just as he always used to do. Allan Jones lost his whole flock today, so I heard.”
“I heard the same,” Loris said sadly. It was a shadow marring the beautiful day, just as so many days had so recently been shadowed. “But don’t despair yet, Elen. You and the others must give Lord Tylluan some time to discover what’s causing so much destruction. He’s trying very hard to find the source and what the cure may be.”
Despite their difficult relationship, Loris knew how deeply Kian loved Tylluan, and had seen him spend night after night poring over ancient texts, striving to find answers to the troubles that had been plaguing the estate these many months. He ate little, of late, and slept even less. Many a morning the upstairs maid had reported that his bed had not been slept in, and Loris could see for herself the weariness and strain that had begun to
creep into Kian’s face. It seemed unfair to her that his tenants should have so little faith in their lord and lack so much patience in giving him a chance.
“But how many more sheep must die, or worse, before he at last calls for the Dewin Mawr to come and save us?” Elen asked.
“That’s enough, Elen,” Loris said, her temper beginning to rise. “You’ll not speak of the baron in such a manner again. Regardless of what you or the others may think, he deserves your respect and loyalty.”
The serving girl made a sour face but curtsied and obediently answered, “Yes, miss.”
“Take the basket into the kitchen, then, and tell Cook to get started. I’ll be in presently.”
As Elen made her way slowly back to the castle, Loris watched, glad to have a few moments to herself before it became necessary to go back indoors and supervise the daily work.
The garden was already in bloom this year, thanks to an early spring and numerous days of sunshine. Bright daffodils grew in the midst of the rows of vegetables and herbs, breaking the monotony of orderly green. Loris took out her scissors and cut several stalks to grace the tables in the great hall. Although the current baron didn’t appear to care much for the beauty of fresh flowers during his evening meal, she continued to put them out. Ffinian had loved flowers in the castle, and it made Loris happy to think of how pleased he would be if he could see them.
“Loris!”
She looked up to see Dyfed coming through the garden gate, two of his favorite hunting dogs loping alongside, his hand aloft in greeting. In his other hand he carried a bow, and over his shoulder were slung a quiver half-filled with arrows and a number of limp birds tied together by the legs. Excellent, Loris thought. There would be fowl on the table tonight, along with the mutton.
“It looks as if you’ve had a good morning,” she said as he neared her. The two dogs hurried up to have their heads scratched.
Touch of Passion Page 6
