Touch of Passion

by Susan Spencer Paul

  Tauron looked pale and miserable, and Loris’s heart went out to him. “Sit down and be comfortable,” she said, waving a hand toward the couch and chairs. “I’ll ring for tea.”

  She was careful in telling him about the destruction that had been occurring at Tylluan over the past months. Fortunately, she could quite honestly state that she had no idea what, precisely, was causing the actual damage, for she’d not yet been told, though she related that both Kian and Dyfed believed it to be one of the ancient enchanted monsters, brought back to life. She said nothing of Desdemona Caslin.

  “Aye, that sounds like something that would appeal to Morcar,” Tauron muttered, accepting the cup of tea Loris offered him. “He prefers the old ways to the new, and he’s determined to best the Seymours in any way he can. It’s an obsession. But I suppose he can’t help himself. He was raised from his cradle for the task. His father, the former earl, was equally obsessed, you see.”

  “From what I’ve heard, the disagreements go back too far for anyone to even remember what started them,” Loris said. “You’d think someone would eventually come along and decide to stop being so foolish.”

  “It’s not so simple a thing to step out of line among my people,” he told her. “The Families only have each other for protection. Those who cause dissension risk being shunned, and left without a safe haven from the world of mere mortals. If I dared to depart from the ways of the Cadmarans, I’d find myself alone, and perhaps even in danger. Morcar would find and punish me.”

  She looked at him closely. “Malachi would help you, if you asked him to.”

  Tauron uttered a mirthless laugh. “And then Morcar would kill me, or find a way to manage the task without angering the Guardians.”

  “You must decide for yourself whether the risk is worth it, then,” she said. “I learned early in life how valuable it is to be free to make your own choices.” She smiled. “Although valuable isn’t quite the right word. Essential would be better. Essential to one’s happiness, despite the danger.”

  He gave a sorrowful shake of his head. “You are not one of us, Loris. You don’t know what it is to be one of us.”

  “I know what it’s like to be in the complete sway of others,” she told him. “Before Ffinian Seymour took me away from London, I had never made a single decision that affected my own life. My parents chose for me, and then, when they were gone, I became a servant in a tavern and the keeper and his wife decided what my life would be. And if Kian Seymour hadn’t saved me, I would have been put into the hands of someone far, far worse, who would have chosen quite a different life for me.”

  “I’ve heard the story of what Kian Seymour did. But he was cursed for it, was he not?”

  “Aye,” she murmured. So Tauron had known of that, at least, if not of the unoliaeth. “He was. Because of me. But that’s not what we should speak of, Tauron, for that’s of no purpose to you. I wanted to tell you how I learned how important it is to make your own decisions, and never let another take that power from you.”

  He put his cup aside. “Tell me,” he said.

  “After he brought me to Tylluan, I looked to Ffinian to tell me what to do. I had never learned how to make a decision for myself, and I expected him to guide me, to tell me what he wanted of me. If he’d given me a bucket of water and a rag and told me to scrub all the castle floors I would have done it without question. And gladly. I would have done anything for him, for he was so kind and gentle and loving.” She smiled as she thought of him and wished, as she had so often wished of late, that he and Lady Alice would come home soon. “And yet I lived in terror of displeasing him as well, for I didn’t want him to send me away. If you think it a terrible thing to be dependent on your family, imagine what it’s like to have no one at all to care for and shelter you. If Ffinian had thrown me out, I would have had nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

  “And then one day,” she went on, “he brought me into his study and sat me down. He took my hands and said, ‘Why have you been hiding in the hallways and shadows, darling Loris? Don’t you like it here? Don’t you wish to go out with the lads and enjoy the fine sun? Or into the garden to see the pretty flowers?’

  “And of course I told him that I didn’t know what to do, but if he wished me to go out with Dyfed and Kian—though I was terrified of Kian, for he was always following me—or out into the garden, I would do so at once. And Ffinian said, ‘But what do you wish to do, my girl?’ ” She sighed at the memory. “And that was when I realized that I was free. That he wanted me to be free, and to be happy. I’ve never loved anyone as I loved Ffinian Seymour in that moment. He can be the most exasperating man on God’s earth,” she said, looking at Tauron, who, having met Ffinian on several occasions, nodded knowingly, “but to me he is something altogether different.”

  “What did you choose to do, then?” Tauron pressed.

  “Well, I chose to do what made me feel safe, and what I knew would please Ffinian. I got a bucket and rag and began to clean the castle.” She laughed at Tauron’s horrified expression. “It was wonderful,” she insisted, “and I was happier than I’d ever been before. Because it was my choice, and no one else’s, and because I was terribly good at it. And, more even than all of that, it made me feel needed. They did need me, those three foolish men, so very much. Their home was falling down about their ears, and they needed someone to stop it from doing so. And in that way, Tylluan became my home, too.”

  She took a moment to refill their teacups and to make certain that Tauron’s plate was filled with a large slice of cake and a few delicate fruit tarts.

  “I know you love Tylluan,” he said, accepting both plate and cup from her. “I heard it in your voice yesterday, during our ride.”

  “Very much,” she confessed. “But Ffinian gave me far more than simply a home. Don’t you understand, Tauron? He gave me a wonderful gift, when he gave me such freedom—one that I’ve never taken for granted. I would have been a fool to give it up so easily, having waited so long to have it.”

  He shook his head. “But I’m not free,” he said. “I’ll never be free.”

  Loris gazed at him steadily. “Try telling that to those who live where I once did. Try telling a whore or a dockhand or a child living in one of London’s filthy rookeries that you have no freedom, no choice. You make a mockery of the freedom you do have by saying such a thing, especially when there are those who would give all that they have to stand in your place. You’d not see them waste such a chance, believe me.”

  He stared at her.

  “You don’t have to do what the Cadmarans tell you to do, Tauron,” she said. “You could leave England tomorrow, if you chose. You could find a way to keep from being found.”

  “My gift,” he said. “If something happened, there’d be no one to save me. Morcar would never come to my aid.”

  “Then make very certain you don’t misuse it,” she advised.

  “And what of you, Loris?” he asked. “Your grandfather believes he’s going to make all your decisions from now on. And he’s still hoping for a match between you and me. How will you keep from being forced into what you don’t desire?”

  “Easily,” she said, “for I’ve already made my choice.” Then she changed the subject. “You’ll be coming to my come-out ball, will you not? I’ve reserved a dance for you. Please promise me you’ll be there.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Do you find the soup to your liking, my love?”

  Desdemona lifted her head to look down the length of the long table at Morcar Cadmaran—and knew that something was wrong. Lowering her spoon, she said, “Yes. Very much.”

  His sightless eyes remained fixed in her direction, disturbingly on mark, and one hand restlessly fingered his wineglass until at last he said, “I’m glad.”

  She bent her head over the bowl again, sipping another mouthful of the savory mushroom soup, and began to consider how she might best protect herself from the powerful wizard before her.

 
; She had to be careful. She had to think. Clearly and carefully. Most of all, she mustn’t let him know she was aware that their situation had altered.

  There was a change in him, a subtle change, but it was there nonetheless. Desdemona gave herself a mental shake for not realizing it before this moment. Cadmaran was too quiet, not going on endlessly as he usually did in order to hear the sound of his own voice. And the dining chamber itself was too still. There was no one else here, she realized of a sudden, and the pace of her heartbeat quickened. They were alone.

  “How do your dealings with the beast go on?” he asked. “You seem to be resting it more often than you used to do.”

  Was the soup poisoned? she wondered. Or the wine? But no. He would realize that she had protections against such simple, earthly creations. And he didn’t possess the gift of making potions himself by using the ancient magic, as she had heard the Dewin Mawr could do. Apart from that, Cadmaran would not risk the wrath of the Guardians by doing such a thing. They had already done more than enough by making him blind. This game, Desdemona knew—or at least hoped—the Earl of Llew would play by the rules.

  “The creature requires rest,” she said, the calmness of her tone belying the fear in her heart, “else it will do no harm when it’s called out of the lake. I’ve told you of this before, but perhaps you’ve forgotten. The athanc must be handled with care, my lord, if you wish to use it to the greatest purpose.”

  “Of course,” he murmured. “I’d certainly not wish to weary or damage the beast. You above all others know how important it is to me that Tylluan suffer as greatly as possible.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said, pushing the soup aside and casting her gaze slowly about the room. It was a large, medieval chamber, with but two doors and a few small windows. The doors were on Cadmaran’s end of the room, and the windows were too small to fly out of … unless she had enough time to transform herself. But transformations required patience and concentration, and if she made the attempt, Cadmaran would strike long before the change was complete.

  “Do you know, my love,” he said softly, “I’ve had reports that perhaps the creature hasn’t been performing of late quite to the level we had previously enjoyed.”

  “Indeed?” she asked, forcing surprise into her voice. “It seems to be as ravenous in its hunger as ever.”

  He sat forward. “Yes, my sweet, but has it been as vigorous in its violence? I have heard, though I could scarce believe it, that not a single incidence of damage has occurred for several weeks now, though you’ve taken the beast out quite often.” Slowly, he stood. “Can this be so?”

  “Of course it isn’t,” she assured him. “How very odd that you should hear such a false report. The creature has done a great deal of damage, just as you wished. Tylluan has been reeling from the harm the athanc has inflicted.”

  “And yet,” said Lord Llew, slowly moving to push aside his chair, “Lord Tylluan has felt so much at ease that he has departed.”

  Desdemona prepared herself for battle. Cadmaran was powerful, but so was she, and he was blind. The additional powers he gained from the castle itself weren’t going to make matters any easier, but she was ready for that.

  “Departed?” she repeated as he began to traverse the length of the table, running one hand along the bare, gleaming dark wood to find his way. “Has he?”

  Perhaps if she waited until Cadmaran was far enough along before moving she might be able to surprise him sufficiently to gain one of the doors. They would be locked, of course, but unlocking them would be a child’s trick. Getting out the door before he cast a spell at her would be far more difficult.

  “Aye, he’s gone to London, to celebrate a betrothal. His brother’s betrothal, from the rumors I’ve heard, to the Earl of Perham’s granddaughter.”

  The words worked on Desdemona as no spell could have done. The breath caught in her throat, and shock poured over her like ice water.

  “Betrothed?” she whispered. “Dyfed?”

  Cadmaran checked his progress, tilting his head slightly. Too late, Desdemona realized how much she had given away in a single word.

  “Ah,” the earl murmured. “So that’s what it is.”

  Desdemona pushed at the chair, ready to fly, only to discover that she couldn’t rise to her feet.

  The chair, she thought with furious realization. He had enchanted the chair to hold her captive. How very clever. Far more clever than she’d given him credit for being. But it didn’t matter.

  “Release!” she commanded, and the chair obeyed. She leaped to her feet and scuttled around the side of the table opposite him, knocking aside her wineglass and a candlestick in her haste.

  A sudden gust of wind rushed through the chamber, putting out both torches and candles, plunging the chamber into darkness. Chairs came flying out from their places at the table, impeding Desdemona’s progress.

  She stubbed her toe on one and cursed aloud in the darkness and with a furious motion sent a dozen flames into the air to light her way.

  Behind her, Cadmaran chuckled, causing a shiver of apprehension to tingle down her spine. She glanced back and saw that he was standing where he’d earlier been, beside the table, quite far away from her now. Except that now he held a large silver candlestick in his hand.

  The sight made Desdemona panic. Her father had sworn that he would never tell another living soul about the one great weakness that could fell her, but she knew very well that money meant more to him than honor. If he’d told Cadmaran … she didn’t want to think of the possibility.

  With another quick motion she sent the chairs back into their places, out of her way, and fled toward the door. Assuming it was locked, she had already commanded it to be open before she reached it. The door flung itself wide with such force that it banged on the wall to which it was hinged. A few more steps and she’d be out.

  But Cadmaran sent the door slamming shut again, just as Desdemona reached it, and before she could counter the command he had sent the candlestick flying in her direction. She heard it coming, heard him shout, “Bind!” and knew she’d lost their contest.

  Turning, she saw the candlestick coming at her, transforming as it flew, thinning into long, slender ropes of silver. Desdemona made a futile motion to evade them, but the ropes hit with amazing speed and accuracy, slapping as they struck her and wrapping tightly about her body, pinning her arms and legs so that she fell onto the ground, irrevocably bound.

  She lay, panting, weeping, disbelieving that her father had done such a thing. How could he have revealed to Cadmaran, to anyone, the secret weakness that rendered her powerless?

  “ ‘Silver ropes to bind the witch, to make her scream and howl and twitch,’ ” Cadmaran said softly as he slowly felt his way toward her. “ ‘And when we’ve set her on the fire, we’ll dance about the funeral pyre.’ That was once part of a children’s rhyme, was it not, my love? Quite long ago, admittedly. The use of silver cords is such a rare and ancient enchantment for capturing a sorceress that I had thought it lost to our kind. But, then, you’re not ordinary in any regard, are you, my sweet? You’re like the athanc, only touched by the old, near-forgotten spells.”

  “Don’t pretend to own a wisdom that we both know you don’t possess,” she told him hotly. “My father told you. Do you intend to hold me captive like this forever?”

  Cadmaran knelt on one knee beside her, patting along her prone body to find her face. When she tried to bite him he chuckled with fresh amusement.

  “When did you fall in love with Lord Tylluan’s brother, Desdemona? It must have been during your wanderings, for he never came to visit us. How foolish you are. Was it his prettiness that charmed you? It could not have been his powers, for he has none. Not that I mind you taking lesser wizards for lovers, darling. You shall find me the most understanding of husbands in that manner, after we’ve wed. With the exception of any Seymours. But I don’t believe we’ll have this lack of understanding again in the future, once you’ve come to your s
enses. As to Dyfed Seymour, it appears he’ll no longer be available to you, if the rumors that I’ve heard are true.”

  “Don’t speak of him!”

  “No?” Cadmaran asked, stroking her hair, ignoring her attempts to avoid his touch. “Because he’s to marry another? But surely you didn’t think he would ever marry you, pet. Seymours don’t bind themselves to those with dark magic. I must have misunderstood. I thought you merely meant to use him for pleasure, but this appears to be something of far deeper feeling. At least on your part. Dyfed has clearly found another that he prefers far more.”

  “Don’t speak of him!”

  And then Cadmaran made the mistake of laughing again.

  Desdemona had never been good at being at anyone’s mercy, though it had happened so seldom in her life, and only because of her father, that she could count the events on one hand. She had been spoiled and cosseted and treated even from childhood as someone both fearsome and dangerous. What was more, she had never been abandoned by anyone she loved, save her father, and had never loved someone as she loved Dyfed. The humiliation of being tied up like an animal was terrible and the fear of knowing that she was helpless against Cadmaran was terrible, but the pain of knowing that she might lose Dyfed to another was unbearable.

  The pain welled up and mixed with the fury and fear, and Desdemona opened her mouth and emitted a wrathful sound that would have given an Irish banshee pause. It was an unearthly scream that shook the entire chamber, causing the tapestries to lose their moorings and dangle at odd angles and plates, cups, and candlesticks to clatter about on the table. The crystal glasses out of which they’d been drinking shattered altogether.