Kian shrugged. “I suppose it must be, especially as he hasn’t been able to find a potential wife among the Families in Europe. Certainly not after my cousin Ceridwen was married before he could force her to the altar.”
“But if she’s very powerful, won’t the Families be concerned about such a union?”
“Deeply concerned,” Kian agreed. “Their coming together will likely produce magic mortals possessed of vast powers. I’m surprised that the Guardians would allow it. And Miss Caslin didn’t appear to be fainting with joy at the idea, either.”
Loris glanced at him as she bent to pick up one of her better dresses. “Perhaps the marriage wasn’t of her choosing,” she suggested.
“That may be,” he replied. “I’m going to have to do some reading in the Seymour family history to discover if there’s any mention of a clan named Caslin. From what I saw of Desdemona Caslin, they may very well be the American version of our Cadmarans. Which is a truly unpleasant idea.” He picked up a tattered wrap with obvious revulsion. “Gad, you do need a new wardrobe, don’t you? How old is this thing?”
Reaching out, Loris snatched it away. “I made that years ago. I made all of these clothes. You’ve never found them lacking before. And Tylluan is not precisely the center of fashionable society, is it?” she asked. “I need clothing that is practical and comfortable, not fine. And whatever you buy for me in London will be a waste of good money—which we happen to need just now. I can’t imagine that any of it will be usable once I’ve come home.”
Kian ignored this and picked up another garment, wrinkling his nose after closer examination. “I shall write Julia and instruct her to burn every last item once your new wardrobe has been delivered. Come to that, she’ll probably consign them to the fire upon sight, so you may be required to remain indoors for a few days.”
Dread twisted in Loris’s stomach at the words, for she knew very well that it wasn’t only her wardrobe that society in London would find lacking. She possessed none of the fine manners that both Kian and Dyfed could so easily call forth, nor the kind of education that would lend itself to good conversation. She was plain and simple and only knew about plain and simple things, and she felt quite certain that none of the people she was going to meet at grand balls and parties were going to be interested in either of her lives, current or former.
“I would far rather remain at Tylluan and spare you the expense. We could use the money to repair the fences along the southern border.”
“There’s no need for you to worry about having sufficient funds,” Kian said, briefly playing tug-of-war with her over the garment he held, at last letting her win. “We have our share of the Seymour fortune, and there should be enough for both your Season and the repairs that will be needed at Tylluan once the troubles are gone. And as this is likely the only time in your life that you’ll be in London again, considering your aversion to travel, I want you to enjoy your visit there as much as possible.”
Loris abruptly dropped the garment she was folding and turned about, truly angry now. “Kian Deiniol Owain Seymour,” she began, and he laughed.
“God’s mercy, this is going to be unpleasant. She’s said my full name in that fearsome manner.”
Loris put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Never tell me you’ve dipped into that money for this journey. Even Ffinian never touched it, and you know how dearly he wanted to. That money is only to be used for Tylluan, and we may well need it before long.”
“Is that what has you so worried?” he asked, clearly amused. “Put your mind at ease, darling Loris. I should have said that you have a share of the Seymour fortune. Malachi made certain that money was put away years ago so that you could have a proper Season, and it’s been growing by the day beneath Cousin Niclas’s tender care. You and Elen may enjoy your new wardrobes with a clear conscience.” Kian’s gaze traveled slowly over her figure, and he moved nearer. “I only wish I could see you in the latest fashions, with your hair stylishly cut and arranged.” Lifting a hand, he touched one of the curls that had fallen loose from the simple manner in which she wore her hair each day. “You’re going to cause such a stir in Town, Loris. You must be careful not to let any gentleman do anything foolish. I should hate to have to harm anyone.”
It took Loris a moment to realize what he meant. “You can’t be serious, Kian.” She slapped his hand away. “Do you mean to say that you’d actually fight a duel with some poor man because of me?”
Kian’s amusement died away and he took her chin in a firm, but careful, grasp, keeping her gaze steadily on his. “I believe I could even kill a man if he harmed you, Loris. You know how I feel, and regardless of your own emotions, you accept that I’m speaking the truth. I love you. You’re mine. I won’t tolerate another man forcing his attentions on you. If I thought it would do any good I’d let you and Dyfed trot out that ridiculous betrothal that somehow came into being years ago, but your behavior toward each other is so much like brother and sister that no one would believe it was true.”
Loris twisted away, furious as only Kian could make her. “You’d best make up your mind, my lord, whether you want me going to London or not, and whether I’m to enjoy myself or not, and whether I’m to dress in fine clothes and cause a sensation. Or not. And when you do finally decide what you want of me, be so kind as to let me know. Until then, I’d prefer not to speak on the matter.”
“What I want of you?” he repeated, his own angry expression mirroring hers. “Damn you, Loris, have a care what you say to me. You think it a difficult thing to leave Tylluan, and perhaps it is, but I dread the days and nights that are to come, being parted from you. But you don’t wish to speak of that, either, do you? Or of what’s between us.”
“There is nothing between us,” she countered. “Save a seemingly never-ending conflict. Why can we never have five minutes of peace between us, Kian? God above.” She set a hand to her head, where an ache was beginning to throb. “Perhaps a trip to London will be welcome, after all. I shall have a little peace while I’m there, at least.”
“No, my love, that you won’t,” Kian said, and before she could move away had gathered her up in his arms. “And neither will I.”
He set his lips over hers, ignoring her attempt to strike him, and held her still, kissing her in the manner that always made her lose her senses, not harshly, but with a gentleness and care that belied the hard arms lashed about her. It was impossible to fight him when he kissed her like this, and the trouble was that she never wanted to.
No one else could do this to her, not even Liw. Only Kian could make her forget everything but the feel of his lips caressing her own, the heat of his body warming her, his strength enveloping her. Her hands lifted of their own accord and grasped him, one digging into the hard muscles of his shoulder, the other sliding around the soft skin of his neck. He moaned at her touch, and with his tongue parted her lips, stroking gently inside.
Her body felt suddenly light, as if she might float if let go and was only kept from doing so by the arms about her. Some of her senses were dimmed, so that both sound and light faded away, while others were heightened, and her awareness of Kian grew almost painfully acute.
His grip on her lessened, and his hands slid upward, stroking her bare upper arms. The fingers of one hand journeyed farther upward, sliding into her hair, imparting a sweet caress that made her helplessly murmur with pleasure.
And then it happened, as it always happened, though this time it had taken longer to begin. The pleasure faded, to be replaced by a sharp, burning pain. Needles pricked her skin where his hands and lips touched, quickly becoming unbearable. Wincing, she pulled back, hearing Kian plead, breathlessly, “No. Loris, no.”
“I can’t,” she managed, firmly pushing him away and turning aside.
“The curse,” he muttered. “As always.”
“Yes,” she agreed, not looking at him. “As always.” She busied herself with smoothing down the front of her skirt and waited for the odd fee
lings to pass. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned back to the task of packing, folding clothes with but the slightest trembling in her hands. Kian stood nearby, fuming.
“You shouldn’t kiss me,” she told him. “It always ends badly.”
“Aye, that it does,” he agreed, “but it’s a journey well worth making. One you enjoy as much as I do.”
“Believe that if you wish,” she replied. “Pass me that heavy skirt, please. I’m not entirely certain, having only packed clothes for men before now, but I believe the heavier items should go on the bottom.”
“God’s mercy, how is it that women can recover their wits so quickly?” he muttered, running both hands through his hair. “I find it incredibly difficult. And frustrating.”
“So you’ve told me,” Loris said, aware that he was still breathing rather harshly. “Perhaps you should make a visit to the village soon,” she suggested, placing the skirt neatly on top of another garment. “While Dyfed and I are gone.”
Kian was quiet for a long moment, and Loris could feel him gazing at her.
“To have a woman, do you mean?” His voice was low and carefully measured, but Loris noted, with surprise, that there was a slight edge to his tone.
She glanced at him and saw that his expression matched his voice exactly. Is he angry? she wondered. But why should he be? Surely he isn’t embarrassed by the suggestion? She found the idea vaguely amusing, considering how legendary his prowess with women was. The girls at the Red Fox had told Loris astonishing stories about both Kian and Dyfed.
“If it would be helpful to you,” she replied, keeping her own voice level, unperturbed, though she allowed herself a little smile as she gave her attention again to the task at hand. “I doubt Neli Wynne’s tavern has as much variety to offer as the places you frequent in London, but surely the outcome of your visits is much the same. And that’s what truly matters to men, is it not?”
He touched Loris’s arm, pulling her to face him. “You want me,” he said slowly, “to go to the village and lie with one of the women available there? You want me to do that, Loris?”
“If you wish,” she said. “I’ve never tried to stop you from doing so before, have I? I’m sure there’s no need to do so now. It’s really none of my business, after all. And you have to go somewhere to assuage your … needs,” she said, slightly uncomfortable at having to find a word for what she meant. “I suppose I would be angered if you or Dyfed dallied with any of the castle maids, but if it’s one of the women at Neli Wynne’s—Kian, for pity’s sake, I don’t know why you should look so shocked. I used to live with such women, if you remember. Women, as it happens, who had all been in company with you and Dyfed—and more than once or twice. They weren’t in the least shy about telling me about the both of you—in great detail—so there’s no need for you to pretend surprise for my sake.”
He didn’t look surprised. Rather, he looked stricken, almost as if she had slapped him across the face rather than made a simple statement of fact.
“I remember far more than you do, apparently,” he told her, the words taut with emotion. “Have you forgotten the vow I made that night at the Red Fox? That I would be faithful to you alone?”
She had forgotten it, Loris realized with a touch of chagrin. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t believed him. She had always assumed that he visited women outside of Tylluan, either in the village or while he was in London. But now that she thought on the matter, Loris remembered that Kian had seldom, if ever, accompanied Dyfed during his visits to Neli Wynne’s.
“I haven’t had a woman since that night, Loris,” Kian said. “And I’ll not do so until the curse has been lifted and you come into my arms with the full knowledge of what we are to each other.”
Now it was her turn to be surprised. He’d not lain with a woman in over ten years? Because of her?
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kian,” she said angrily, pulling free of his grasp and sitting down on the bed to stare at him. “Do you truly mean to say that you’ve denied yourself because of that imaginary unoliaeth?”
The words hurt him. He flinched, and his eyes filled with unmistakable pain. Loris hadn’t expected that. She’d thought he would make his usual sarcastic retort, mocking her and what she said. For some reason, his reaction made her only angrier.
“That’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard of,” she snapped, wishing now that she’d never even made the suggestion. “And it’s not fair to me, to make me the cause of any deprivation you suffer. There’s no need for it. I don’t want you to keep yourself pure for my sake, Kian,” she said, and watched him pale. He took a step away; Loris had never seen such a strange look on his face. And still she couldn’t stop her anger.
It wasn’t her fault that he chose to go without female companionship. She’d never asked him to make such a sacrifice. “I’m not ignorant about what such fleeting unions signify,” she said. “Or what they don’t signify, rather. From what I’ve been told it’s a perfectly common and natural thing for men to do, especially when they’re not bound by marriage. And since you’re not bound by marriage, there’s no reason for you to suffer. If you feel frustration because of me, then, please, go and rid yourself of it.”
He only continued to gaze at her. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she shouted, standing. Why didn’t he say something? Something tart or cruel? What was the matter with him? “You’ll not make me feel guilty, Kian Seymour. I don’t even believe in the unoliaeth. You know I don’t. I’ve never asked you to deny yourself in any way.”
He looked away at last, still shaking his head as if he simply could not believe what she said. Silently, the chamber door opened, and Kian turned and walked out of the room.
“It’s unfair to blame me!” Loris shouted after him, but he didn’t stop walking. “Kian! It isn’t fair!”
Her only reply was the chamber door swinging slowly back again, until it closed with an almost imperceptible click.
Chapter Eight
It had not been Kian’s habit, since attaining his majority, to drink overmuch. He enjoyed a glass of whiskey when he was in the company of other men and drank his share of ale and wine with meals and on the rare occasions when he found himself in a tavern. Whenever a celebration was held at Tylluan, he would be the first to confess that he drank a good deal more than he should, but never enough to even approach being drunk. He knew about being drunk, of course, and had been in that condition a sufficient number of times during his reckless youth to last a lifetime. Following one particularly harrowing recovery, he had concluded that the suffering that occurred the day after wasn’t worth the numb pleasure of the night before.
But he drank tonight, much to the surprise of his men when they rode out for their nightly surveillance, readily sharing the several flasks they’d brought along. And to the surprise of the footman who greeted him at the castle door, as well, when Kian told the man to bring a full bottle of his best whiskey—the kind Loris kept locked safely away in the cellar—to his bedchamber. Loris, who had wisely stayed away from him for the remainder of the day, even excusing herself from the evening meal, must have agreed to the footman’s request for the key—Kian could just imagine how surprised she must have been—for the bottle was delivered to his chamber a few minutes later.
He’d been working on emptying it since, sitting morosely before the dimly glowing fireplace, and still hadn’t come close to banishing her words from his memory.
Perhaps you should make a visit to the village soon … You have to go somewhere to assuage your needs … That’s what truly matters to men, is it not?
A wave of fresh pain washed over him, and he closed his eyes in misery.
He was a fool and had been since he’d met her. He’d thought himself so noble all these years, saving himself for her—no, not saving, for there’d been nothing innocent in him left to save, except his heart, and she didn’t even want that. But he’d tried to make up for his reckless pas
t, for all the women who’d come before, and had kept himself from so much as lusting after another female. Even when he’d wanted to. Which he had, for he wasn’t blind, after all, and there wasn’t any sin in simply looking … but no, even that had been too awful a thing to do to darling Loris. Kian had firmly kept his eyes to himself, determined to prove how much he loved her. To show her that she could trust him.
She’d never even noticed.
I don’t know why you should look so shocked. I used to live with such women … They weren’t in the least shy about telling me about you …
Of course she hadn’t noticed. She didn’t care about him. Not even a little. She spurned his professions of love and denied the truth of the unoliaeth, despite accepting that a curse had made his touches painful. His touches … she liked them well enough while they lasted. But not enough to care about whether he bedded other women.
I don’t want you to keep yourself pure for my sake, Kian … From what I’ve been told it’s a perfectly common and natural thing for men to do … If you feel frustration because of me, then go and rid yourself of it …
That was just what he should do, Kian thought angrily. He should go to the village now, no matter how late it was—or early, rather, as midnight had surely come and gone—and wake up Neli and all her girls and enjoy each of them in turn. And when he’d gone through the lot he’d start over again until he’d driven all thoughts of Loris out of his brain.
But still it wouldn’t be enough, he knew. He could never quench the need he felt for her. Never exorcise his soul of her.
“Because you’re a fool,” he told himself angrily, pushing the bottle into the air, where it floated, waiting until he wanted it again. “The unoliaeth doesn’t force you to love her, but you do, anyway. And she doesn’t love you at all.”
But why would she? Loris only loved those people or things that made her feel safe. His father and Dyfed. Tylluan. And Liw Nos. He could understand it, in a way, knowing what he did of her past. She didn’t want to find herself bound to someone wild, someone like him, no matter how hard he tried to prove himself trustworthy. But understanding didn’t make the pain of rejection lessen any.
Touch of Passion Page 14
