Touch of Passion

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “Aye, and that I have. Look at these fat partridges I brought down. And these grouse. We’re going to have a fine season this year, I vow.”

  “At least we’ve that to be thankful for,” Loris said as Dyfed divested himself of his burdens, laying them on a nearby bench. “Did you hear about Allan Jones’s flock?”

  Dyfed gave a grim nod. “It’s the same as the others. Six mornings in a row, now,” he said. “Kian’s going half-mad trying to find out what’s behind it, poor devil.” With a wave of his hand, Dyfed sent the dogs away. Then he bent and gave Loris a quick, affectionate kiss before sitting on the bench to admire his catch.

  Watching him, Loris thought of how deeply she loved him and of how very different that love was from the conflicting emotions she felt for Kian. Dyfed was like a brother to her, or what she had always thought a brother might be like. He had been unfailingly gentle and kind to her from Loris’s very first day beneath Ffinian’s care, and had almost always taken her side against Kian during their frequent arguments. There had been a time when she had hoped that something more might come of her and Dyfed’s relationship, and had even gone so far as to let others believe that she and Dyfed were betrothed. It was something Ffinian had desired, having given up hope that she would ever come to love Kian, despite the unoliaeth they all believed in, and wanting her to marry at least one of his sons. But that had all been foolishness and had long since been forgotten. There could never be any romantic passion between Dyfed and herself. Only a deep and abiding affection.

  Dyfed was a lesser wizard, possessed only of the single gift of silent speech, which he used, thankfully, only when absolutely necessary. When Loris had first come to live at Tylluan, Dyfed had been in the habit of forgetting himself and speaking only with his thoughts—an experience Loris had found oddly unsettling. It had been for her sake, in part, that he had considerately forced himself to speak aloud.

  Though he was a man full-grown, Loris still saw vestiges of the boy he’d once been, for his days were filled with ease. Kian, however, had left every hint of boyishness behind the moment he took up the duties of the estate. Loris had found it a welcome change; they had at last found a common ground upon which to build a tentative peace after all their years of constant fighting.

  Loris had been afraid, at first, that Kian might find a way to wrest the management of the castle away from her, but he’d let her go on precisely as his father had. Better yet, Kian had a far greater interest in Tylluan’s prosperity and security than Ffinian and spent a great deal more time managing the estate than he had done. Between the two of them, Loris managing the day-to-day chores of the castle and Kian managing the rest, Tylluan was, for the first time since she’d come to live there, actually heading in a forward direction. Or had been, until the troubles had begun to take their toll.

  “Dyfed,” she said, coming to sit beside him. “What do you think is causing the destruction of the cattle? It can’t simply be wild beasts, for there would have to be a great number to kill so many animals in one night, and surely someone would have seen other signs of them.”

  “No, it has to be something supernatural,” Dyfed agreed. “Kian suspects that one of the ancient creatures has been unleashed, somehow, and I believe he must be right. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say Cadmaran was behind it. That would appeal to him, bringing a forbidden dark magic back to life.”

  “An ancient creature?” Loris murmured. “Do you mean like the ones that Ffinian was always telling stories of? The giant beasts and evil spirits?”

  “The very same. They all truly existed, though he made them sound far more fantastic than they were. Many roamed these very lands. It would be against all our laws to bring such a creature back to life, but Cadmaran has nothing to lose by doing so. The Guardians have already blinded him for trying to kill Cousin Niclas three years past, and he knows they won’t take his life. The Guardians never pronounce a judgment of outright death, even though they’ve sometimes put a cursed one’s life in the hands of another. But that only happens in the direst circumstances—not simply because some sheep have been slaughtered. Cadmaran knows what the limits are.”

  Dyfed sounded perfectly at ease, but Loris felt a stab of fear at the idea. Morcar Cadmaran was a fearsome, evil wizard, and he hated the Seymours. He was also, unfortunately, lord of an estate that lay not far from Tylluan, which made them particularly vulnerable to his scheming.

  “But it required many great wizards to overcome such creatures so long ago. How can Kian possibly manage on his own?”

  “He can’t,” Dyfed replied distractedly, examining his bow with a frown and running his finger along a scrape in the wood. “He should have called for Malachi to come long ago.”

  “Not you, too!” Loris cried, rising to her feet. “Is there no one in Tylluan who has any faith in their lord? Not even his own brother?”

  Dyfed looked up at her, surprised. “Don’t be angry, Loris,” he said. “Of course I have faith in Kian. But it’s simply a fact that he hasn’t the power or knowledge to overcome Cadmaran’s wiles. Only the Dewin Mawr can. Don’t you remember how many times Malachi was obliged to come and remedy the troubles Lord Llew caused while my father was the baron of Tylluan?”

  “But Ffinian isn’t an extraordinary wizard,” Loris countered. “Or even a greater wizard, for that matter.”

  “He isn’t even truly a lesser wizard,” Dyfed put in. “He doesn’t possess any powers at all, apart from the ability to charm women.”

  “But that’s what I mean,” Loris said. “He had to call for help, because he couldn’t do anything himself. But Kian isn’t so helpless. One day he’ll be just as powerful as Lord Graymar.”

  “Aye, one day,” Dyfed said. “But not now. Kian’s powers are great, but they’re still limited. He can’t take to the air, yet, or make himself invisible. His senses regarding the presence and powers of other magic mortals are yet being developed, and he hasn’t mastered half of what Malachi knows in the way of potions and spells, to say nothing of fast traveling, which he’s only just begun to learn. If Kian truly wants to do what’s best for Tylluan, then he’ll put away his pride and admit that he needs help. One would think he’d have learned his lesson after what happened ten years ago, at the Red Fox.” Dyfed went back to examining his bow.

  Loris gazed at him for a silent moment, considering his words. On the one hand, she agreed completely that Kian possessed an enormous ego, but on the other, she wasn’t insensible to the fact that Kian’s pride had driven him to save her from Gregor Foss and, ultimately, her miserable life in London.

  “You could help him,” she suggested gently. “Above lending your aid in keeping watch at nights, which of course is your duty to both Tylluan and Kian. Some of the tenants have magic, and perhaps if you all combined your powers, you might—”

  “It wouldn’t be enough,” Dyfed told her. “Trust me in this, Loris, and leave the matter be.”

  “I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “And you shouldn’t, either.”

  He glanced at her. “It’s curious that you should care so much. Not about Tylluan, of course.”

  It took Loris a moment to understand what he meant. “About Kian?” she asked. “He’s the master of Tylluan. Why would it be odd if I were to worry over him?”

  “Because you hate him,” Dyfed replied simply.

  Loris threw her hands up into the air with exasperation. “I do not hate Kian. We disagree a great deal, but that has nothing to do with hatred. How many times must I tell you so?”

  Dyfed looked at her with patience. “You’ve been cursed, and no matter how you deny it, I know what your feelings for Kian must be. At least until the curse is lifted and the magic of the unoliaeth fills your heart.”

  The curse again. And the unoliaeth. God help her, but she was sore weary of hearing about both of them. Loris had learned a great deal about magic since coming to live at Tylluan. She knew and believed that both blood curses and unoliaeths existed, for she had know
n magic mortals who had existed beneath them. One of Ffinian’s great-nephews, Niclas Seymour, had been blood cursed after inadvertently causing the death of a friend who was a mere mortal. In the years that had followed, until the curse was lifted, Niclas had been unable to sleep and had suffered terribly.

  She accepted that she and Kian had been cursed—there was no other way to explain the odd burning pain she felt when he touched her for longer than a few moments—but she could not and would not accept that she had been cursed to hate him as well. Her feelings for him were confusing, often angry and distressing and always deeply felt, but none of these had to do with hatred.

  “I don’t hate Kian,” she said again. “And there is nothing odd in my being worried about him. Tylluan—all of us here—depend upon him. We should all be worried. You most of all.”

  Dyfed uttered a laugh. “Are we speaking of my brother, dearest Loris? Kian doesn’t want anyone worrying over him. In truth, it would make him quite irate to know of your concerns. Now leave the matter be, I beg you. Kian will come to his senses soon enough.”

  “Will I?” The garden gate closed with a loud snap. “That’s reassuring to know, fy gefell.”

  Dyfed stood as Kian approached.

  “It might be,” Dyfed said, his tone filled with displeasure at the knowledge of being overheard, “if we had any hope of the event happening sooner than later. There was another slaughter last night. Are you at last going to send for Malachi?”

  “No,” Kian replied simply. “I’m not. I’m going to send you to Fynnon Elian, instead, to pay for the lifting of any curses that have been sent into the cursing well.”

  “Fynnon Elian?” Dyfed repeated with disbelief. “That’s a full day’s ride. You’re jesting, surely.”

  “Not in the least,” his brother replied pleasantly. “You’re to leave in the morning. If the weather holds, it should be an agreeable journey.”

  From the expression on Dyfed’s face Loris could tell that the brothers were about to have a serious disagreement. Sighing, she turned to fetch her basket.

  “You can’t actually believe that everything that’s happened has to do with a mere well curse?” Dyfed demanded.

  “Perhaps not,” said Kian, “but you’ll go, nonetheless, and pay the well keeper a goodly sum for a blessing.”

  “It’s a fool’s errand,” Dyfed insisted. “And it’s not going to buy you much time.”

  “Don’t argue, Dyfed,” Loris said sternly, walking past them with the basket in hand. “Do it for the sake of the people of Tylluan, if you find that you can’t do it for any other cause. I shall have your bag packed and made ready for you first thing in the morn.”

  “Loris!”

  It was Kian who called her. She turned about and gazed at him inquiringly.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Another letter has arrived for you. From London.”

  She almost dropped the basket.

  “Another …” She felt chilled all over and drew in a shaking breath.

  Kian looked for a moment as if he might come toward her. One of his hands clenched and unclenched.

  “It’s in my study,” he said more gently. “Come when you have a moment and I’ll give it to you.”

  “Is it from—?”

  “Come to my study,” he repeated. “We’ll discuss the matter then.”

  Loris swallowed and nodded and, turning about, made her way back toward the castle. Behind her, the battle between the two brothers began again, the sound accompanying Loris all the way to the kitchen door.

  Chapter Two

  Kian stood by the window in his study, gazing at the deepening afternoon sky. The view looked over the gardens to the valley beyond and, farther, to blue mountains rising in the distance. The beauty of the land never failed to give him pause, to fill him with appreciation and awe. He loved Tylluan with a fierceness that dimmed only when compared to the love he felt for Loris, and had always done so. He’d often dreamed of the time when he would take his rightful place as lord of the estate and put to right all that his wild father had let go. But the reality was turning out to be far different from those grand dreams. Everything seemed to be going wrong.

  Well, perhaps not everything.

  The tenants had been glad of the improvements that Kian had begun, the new fences and better ditches and leveled roads. He had plans for building new dwellings and cattle sheds as well, as soon as the land began to return a profit, but with every flock and herd that was slain, that hope was becoming increasingly dim.

  He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he had the gift of personal levitation. It would be remarkably handy just now to be able to fly over all his lands during the coming night to see where the evil would strike next and perhaps stop it. He would even be glad for the ability to immediately and accurately feel a stranger’s presence within the borders of his land; at least then he’d have some idea of which direction to go in order to hunt the intruder down.

  Malachi possessed both of those gifts, of course, and Kian supposed that he would, too, one day. Extraordinary wizards, unlike greater and lesser ones, continued to increase in powers until they departed for the spirit realm. But though Kian was glad to know that he’d eventually gain such abilities, it did little to help him now. And so, tonight, just as they’d done for the past five nights, he and his men would do what mere mortals were required to do when hunting a predator. They would mount their horses and frantically ride about, hoping to catch the killer before he or, more likely, it struck again.

  He was so weary. If he got within ten feet of a bed he would be asleep before he could close the distance. And he missed Loris with growing intensity. He’d not been able to visit her as Liw Nos since the troubles began, and he longed to hold her in his arms again, to kiss her. To lie upon her bed and simply talk, as they often did, and then to do all those other things that had nothing at all to do with talking. His body hardened simply thinking on it.

  Loris must wonder, too, why Liw hadn’t come to her chamber for so many nights, though there had been other times in the past when Kian hadn’t been able to do so. When he and his brother and father had gone to London each year, for instance, and Loris had so stubbornly remained behind, refusing to accompany them. Surely she must have become suspicious that Liw stopped coming to her until Kian returned, but she had never said anything of it when he at last crawled over her balcony and into her bedchamber.

  It was proof, he believed, that she suspected who Liw Nos really was and didn’t want to risk losing him by speaking the truth aloud. The idea made Kian a little jealous, for he realized that she preferred his other self to his true self. The trouble was, he often felt the same way. After so many years, Liw Nos had become a part of him, and if Kian were asked, it would be difficult for him to say which of his two selves he preferred.

  He should stop deceiving her. It had always been terribly wrong, and when Loris at last knew the full truth she would likely never forgive him. Time and again he’d told himself that he’d not go to her, and time and again only a few short days had passed before he’d given way to desire.

  Just as he wished to give way to it now, despite all the dangers at Tylluan that demanded his attention. He had become addicted to being with Loris in the night hours, and it was impossible for him to force his mind into obedience when it was most necessary and to think on what must be done, rather than on when he would be alone with her again.

  And so, as he couldn’t master his unruly mind and his unwilling body, he would have to take the next wisest step and send Loris away. Not simply to remove her from his reach but to keep her safe as well. He knew little thus far about what was happening at Tylluan, save that it was very bad. He wanted Loris to be as far away from it as possible. Only then would he be able to fully concentrate on ridding his lands of the evil that had come to them.

  And more than simply her safety or his sanity was involved now. There was the matter of the letters that had been coming to Tylluan, ad
dressed to Loris, for the past few months. She had refused to read any of them, and Kian had been content to quietly verify the truth of the claims that the missives made. Proof had at last come, sent by his cousin Niclas, whose word could certainly be trusted, and had arrived at almost the same time as the latest letter.

  Matters in London could wait no longer for Loris to attend to them, else the man who was seeking her might take it into his mind to come to Tylluan himself, and the last thing Kian needed just now was a visit from a wealthy, powerful nobleman who was both a mere mortal and not sympathetic to those possessed of magic.

  Dyfed would have to go with her, of course. There was no one else, and she certainly couldn’t go alone. Kian had always hoped that he would be the one to reintroduce Loris to London, to replace all her unhappy memories with good ones, and to make certain that she enjoyed a proper Season. Indeed, shortly after the letters first started arriving, he’d begun making plans for a possible visit. Unfortunately, just as word had come from Niclas, the killing of the cattle had begun. After six mornings like the one that had just passed, there was little hope that the matter was going to be quickly remedied. And so Dyfed would be the one to escort Loris to her first ball, perhaps to partner her in her very first dance, to see her smiling delight as she experienced the sights and sounds of a London that she’d not experienced in her youth. The thought only made Kian feel even more desolate.

  He looked down at the letter in his hand, rubbing a thumb across the thick, waxy seal, and willed Loris to come to him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. Her image came clearly into his mind’s eye, happy, smiling, jesting with someone nearby.

  Loris had been a beautiful girl and had grown into an even more beautiful woman. She was taller than most of the females Kian had known, slender and regal in her bearing. Her thick, curling hair had grown so long that, unbound, it fell like a shining dark gold waterfall to her hips. Her face could, without prejudice, only be called beautiful. Not pretty or comely or lovely, but strikingly beautiful. Her features were in perfect proportion to one another, neither too large nor too small, save perhaps for her cinnamon-colored eyes, which were prominently set beneath delicately arching eyebrows.